A Garden of Decaying Flowers
by Aria DC al Fine
Summary: AU. Emperor Alfred only ever wanted his first concubine, his beloved Rose, to be happy. History, his court and the power struggle among his consorts made this wish almost impossible to realise. Main: USUK. Minor: USxHarem, FRUK.
1. Prologue

Title: A Garden of Decaying Flowers  
>Pairing: AmericaxEngland (main), AmericaxVarious, FrancexEngland, PortugalxEngland<br>Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Warning: AU, deviations from canon characterisation

A/N: It seems no matter which fandom I'm in I can't help gyrating toward 'harem in a court' situation (*cough cough* abandoned KKM WIP *cough*). Well, here it is.

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><p>Prologue: The Casts<p>

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><p>His First: <em>The Rose<em>

The Rose had been the first of His Majesty's consorts. Many guessed that the Rose was His Majesty's oldest.

The Rose looked nothing like the esteemed flower the title suggested. Pale and frail, the Rose was seldom seen outside official ceremonies, decked from head to toe in layers and layers of various shades of dark green, grey and white, fabric covering almost every inch of skin from view. Gloves shielding slim fingers, stiff high collar and cravat choking thin neck, a gable hood hiding ears and hair from view.

But the Rose had delicate, _aristocratic_ facial features; a straight nose, high cheekbones puffed with powders and blush, rouged thin lips, long-lashed large eyes which were often downcast beneath strands of thick blonde fringe. Most servants couldn't recall what colour those eyes were. Modest and well-mannered, the Rose never sparked any scandals and could always be depended upon to play a gracious (if slightly sharp-mouthed) host.

Yet, the Rose couldn't escape from the vicious natters that ran rampant across His Majesty's hedonistic court. Young Barons and Counts whispered that the Rose had dark, dark secrets embedded on its veiled skin, speculated riotously over the Rose's 'shameful' history and 'skeletons in the closet'. The older nobles and servants kept their silence and spoke of white lies over polite smiles, their refusals only serving to fuel the fire.

The Rose merely turned that poised back against the gossip mill, content with books, tea, trusted servants and imaginary friends in company.

* * *

><p>His Most Cruel: <em>The Chamomile<em>

The day a big-boned, fair-haired ambassador with an unnerving smile arrived in His Majesty's court bearing greetings from the North, no one suspected that the diplomat would be His Majesty's consort.

The Chamomile must have been the most indelicate flower in history: seven-feet tall, with a bulky frame made bulkier still with the consort's choice of thick beige or purple robes and that threadbare, _ancient_ scarf the Chamomile refused to part with. The courtiers supposed the Chamomile had pretty violet eyes and cute chubby cheeks, but not everyone found the Chamomile's large aquiline nose attractive.

His Majesty and the Chamomile had peculiar chemistry. They could be threatening to annihilate each other through the entire duration of a five-course-meal (the North remained the only empire that rivaled His Majesty's empire in military strength) while playing footsie under the table (no, the servants weren't mistaken thank you very much!). Expressions of agony would bounce off the walls of the Chamomile's chambers whenever His Majesty visited, but after the sun peeked out of the horizon they wore the bruises like one would precious stones, with pride, and no small amount of possessiveness.

On these days, the Rose would leave the breakfast table with a hand over smeared lips, cheeks white even with blush liberally applied to the Rose's face.

The Chamomile was volatile. The Chamomile could charm the court with cheerful, innocent, child-like smiles one moment, and wreaked havoc with public, _violent_ punishments of servants, inquisitions of criminals, and mockery of lower-ranked concubines the next (the later causing the Rose, who was in charge of maintaining order in the household despite not being His Majesty's Empress Consort, much headache). The capital's square could see up to a double digit of hanging a day, depending on the Chamomile's mood. Servants and courtiers were always on edge around the flower, afraid of breathing the wrong way.

Secure in its position due to the North's military strength and His Majesty's favours, the Chamomile continued blithely, leaving a trail of red in its wake.

* * *

><p>His Most Obedient: <em>The Rue<em>

The Rue's kingdom was a state of the Chamomile's empire. The Rue's titles mattered not a whit, the Rue was but a servant to the Chamomile. So when the Chamomile decided to enter the harem and move to the West's capital, the Rue was part of the North's dowry to His Majesty.

The Rue never said 'no' to a request (much less a command). The Rue was a skittish, soft-spoken, scrawny brunette who had the tendency to stutter when the Chamomile was around (and almost no one ever saw the Rue without the Chamomile looming its shadow).

The Rue was friendly, and helpful to the servants. But the Rue was quiet, overtly so. Within the flower's first year of residency, only a handful of courtiers admitted to having heard the Rue speak.

His Majesty did not find the flower's behavior suspicious (rather, he did not notice – he had many flowers in his harem, after all) until he incidentally caught the Rue _laugh_ as the flower conversed comfortably with the Rose's lady-in-waiting.

That glimpse of his flower's character prompted him to start a private investigation, which led to his discovery of the _very much_ public secret that the Rue was frequently subjected to abuse under the Chamomile's torment. That night, a loud, heated debate could be heard from the Chamomile's chamber; it marked the end to His Majesty's visits and the beginning of a cold war.

The week following that discovery had been all sorts of hell. The fight between His Majesty and the Chamomile had forced every aristocrat and servant to walk on tiptoes for days on end, parading through a charade of daily life with bated breath, stilted words and shivering limbs, waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop, a declaration of War, a violent debacle – anything that could diffuse the tension.

This went on for another torturous seven days until the two _finally_ started screaming and tearing at each other's throat over dinner. Everyone vacated the Dining Hall once the touches turned to that of another nature, and the next day, when His Majesty pondered aloud, _gleefully_, whose quarter the Rue could be transferred to, the Rose offered without a second thought.

So all in all, things went well for the Rue. As well as things could be, anyways.

* * *

><p>His Most Calculative: <em>The Peony<em>

The Peony was a petite fair-skinned darling with silky shoulder-length hair and delicate oriental features. The Peony always carried a worn, well-loved stuffed cat (which had an eerie smile) everywhere. At first glance, the Peony appeared like an innocent, adorable teenager. Yet no one seemed to be able to find out what went on behind the Peony's beady dark eyes.

Despite the Peony's youthful facade, rumours had it that the Peony was possibly older than the Rose, but no one dared to mention anything out loud. Why, the Peony had an extremely strong foothold on the West's economy, as the Peony had come from a prominent clan in the East, a wealthy oriental empire that had been the West's major trading partner and supplier of coals for the past fifty years. The nobles were always making an effort to please the Peony.

And pay well the effort did, for the Peony would always return a favour owed, and most importantly, exact fair payment for a request granted. The Peony could be depended upon to promote and demote a noble in the blink of an eye, as soon as gold coins exchanged hands.

The Peony was probably the only flower who felt nothing for His Majesty, and vice versa, but nobody minded. Nobody cared. Business went on, as usual.

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><p>His Most Polite: <em>The Chrysanthemum<em>

The Chrysanthemum arrived in His Majesty's court with the Peony, yet the shorter-haired consort was vastly different from the elder relative. The Chrysanthemum, too, had impenetrable dark eyes and spoke in words that belay multiple interpretations. Painfully polite and tactful, the Chrysanthemum avoided conflicts whenever viable.

The Chrysanthemum had been the only flower who could get along well with both the Rose and His Majesty. Equally well-mannered and respectful of traditions, the two flowers were often seen enjoying afternoon tea together, sharing views on literature and the arts. The Chrysanthemum could be seen spending more afternoons with His Majesty, discussing their interests in science and technology over snacks and embarking on ridiculous projects the court had no doubt were started by His Majesty.

The Chrysanthemum was the strongest running candidate for His Majesty's Empress Consort. The Chrysanthemum's supporters were in constant opposition with those of the Chamomile. The two had been the most dominant factions in the court, with the Peony backing its sibling. Such an alliance would profit the East, and what did the Peony cared about if not costs and benefits?

The painfully patient, impartial Chrysanthemum worked around the tensions in the court and merely continued maintaining good relations with the Rose, the Chamomile and His Majesty.

* * *

><p>His Most Passionate: <em>The Dahlia<em>

The Dahlia was vibrant, sensual and enticing, with figure-hugging red silk covering smooth chocolaty skin and sparkling rubies adorning her long, luscious, black-as-midnight curls. The Dahlia's laughter was melodious as chimes of bells and lively as little boys racing across green prairies. Courageous and passionate, the Dahlia was possibly the only person in the whole of the West who could talk back to His Majesty. The gem of His Majesty's eyes, the Dahlia would have been His Majesty's Empress Consort if she weren't His Majesty's beloved half-sister.

* * *

><p>His Past: <em>The Iris<em>

The Iris was a beautiful, beautiful woman with clear sky-blue eyes and soft golden curls. His Majesty was the apple of the Iris' eyes. The Iris was His Majesty's mother.

TBC

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><p>AN: And no, I don't have '_The Maple'_ because dude, that is one incest I seriously don't feel comfortable with (but, to each, his own). And maple isn't a flower.


	2. Chapter 1, Part 1

To clarify:

Yao: Peony

Kiku: Chrysanthemum

Ivan: Chamomile

Toris: Rue

Mexico (OC): Dahlia

Arthur: Rose

Jeanne D'Arc (OC): Iris

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><p>Chapter 1: A Day in the West's Court<p>

Part 1

"I heard they've come home," one of the maids murmured as she opened the curtains.

The Rose reached for a towel to wipe the water off his face as Xin, his most loyal lady-in-waiting, continued combing his hair, fastening his hood and pinning his 'crown' – a Tudor rose made of rubies and diamonds – onto the back of his hood, the way he wanted it.

"They finally did?" an elderly maid sounded hopeful. "I've been praying for my son to come home alive…I hope I can see him later!"

"So the army managed to take over the disputed region?" a younger maid, barely a teenager, asked curiously as she arranged the sheets. "That piece of land between the South and the East?" For someone so young and uneducated, she sounded intelligent. The Rose supposed he had reasons to worry.

Another maid nodded. "The new leader of the mercenaries…he's young, but he's skilled."

"Is he handsome?" The excitement gave rise to a buzzing.

The Rose made sure to drag his chair back as he stood up, and the servants shut their mouths immediately. "I suppose," the concubine spoke, "That leader of the mercenaries will want to see me for his rewards." He raised his arms.

"Yes, Milord," Xin responded as she slipped his arms into the sleeves of a brown waist coat and dark green robe and arranging the way the fabric fall around his figure. He turned around and let her paint his face with blush-on and make-up. "No kohl," he warned her when she frowned at him. "We need to hurry."

"Before Lord Peony lays his hand on the mercenaries," one of the maids whispered, and the rest giggled.

The Rose glared at them nosy women, and the noise died again. "If I find a speck of dust later…" he let his threat hang.

"Don't worry, Milord," the elderly maid bowed to him. "We will perform our responsibilities well."

He shrugged and left his chambers.

* * *

><p>"Ve, ve, when are we leaving? The West has good weather, but the food in the East is better," Feliciano gushed. "The women, too! The West has too many begetters [1]-"<p>

"Ludwig!" another man called him. An archer in his group, he recognised him. "Someone in the court's finally granting your request for an appointment!"

"Ve, finally we can get our money!" Feliciano cheered.

Ludwig gulped nervously. His first encounter with a noble. His brother had no knowledge of this. He'd come to the West against his brother's prohibition.

"_Listen, Ludwig," the albino's crimson eyes were stern and nonnegotiable. "Don't ever let yourself be employed by Emperor Alfred. Better yet, don't ever agree to fight against or for him, let alone set one foot in his castle!"_

The man who'd taken care of him since he could remember. And he'd about to break every single rule.

But Ludwig couldn't help it! His brother's rules were unreasonable! The villagers desperately need money, and the West always pays mercenaries handsomely.

_It's okay_, he assured himself. He'd take the money and leave, never to contact the West's intriguing court of concubines, power struggles and assassination of princes ever again.

Or so he thought.

* * *

><p>"Good Morning, Rose-san," the Chrysanthemum greeted as soon as he reached the breakfast table. The flower was, as always, decked in neat, colour-coordinated kimono, his crown of gold, amber and diamond unfurled Chrysanthemum clipped to the left side of his inky black hair. Today, his kimono was dark violet, patterns of golden butterflies printed on the fabric, and fastened by a brown obi; modest, yet pleasant to the eyes.<p>

"Morning, Chrysanthemum," the Rose sent a greeting to his friend in return before returning to his tea. He took a sip and sighed blissfully, a small smile forming on his lips, before he attempted to start a short conversation. "You're early this morning."

There was a question embedded in the statement. _Was His Majesty not in your room last night?_

Astute, sensitive Chrysanthemum detected it, and answered, "I slept quite early last night."

The Rose went back to his tea, adding a dash of milk to the dark liquid. "I see." He sighed again, a slight frown forming on his brows, behind the thick curtain of blonde fringe.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, whereby Xin poured a second cup of tea for the Rose and the Chrysanthemum started eating his oriental breakfast of soya beans, rice and sweetened egg.

Soon enough, a third party joined them. "Greetings, Lord Chrysanthemum, Lord Rose. I'm sorry I'm late," the Rue rushed to his seat and bowed, cheeks flushed and breathing labored. His robes and hair pins were askew.

The Rose pinched the bridge of his nose with gloved fingers. "Sit down, Rue," he spoke softly, before glancing at his lady-in-waiting. Xin caught the order and curtsied before covertly shooing most maids and servants from the room.

"Rue," the older flower began and the younger jumped on his seat. "I didn't take you in my quarter to make you my servant." He crossed his fingers in front of his chin and leaned on his elbows. "I am your protector, not your master. You should utilise your youth and make yourself known to His Majesty." The Rose gestured and shot a critical gaze on the brunette's drab clothing. "Don't let yourself be shadowed."

_By Chamomile,_ the unspoken word was loud in its absence. _This is your chance at revenge._

Chrysanthemum, the unprejudiced bystander, kept quiet and did not point out the irony in the older concubine's advice. He merely smiled at the Rue and offered him a piece of toast.

The Rue, flustered, accepted the toast with a stuttered thank you, before clearing his throat and sending the Rose an even gaze. Good, he was a fast learner. "Thank you for the advice, R-rose."

The silence the followed this was awkward, and stilted. The door to the room was opened unnoticed. There was no noise but the clattering of cutleries until the Rose was glomped from behind. "Morning, Rose!"

The blonde gasped in shock (thankfully, he'd finished his tea, else he spluttered it all over the table cloth), before noting the frills on silky red gloves covering the tanned hands around his shoulder. He smiled, "Dahlia, please stop surprising an old begetter like me. One day, my heart is going to drop."

"You aren't old!" Laughter filled the room with livelihood as the energetic flower sauntered to a chair next to the Rose. Her long-lashed dark eyes were filled with mirth and warmth. "Age is mind over matter!" she spoke chirpily before beaming at the other two flowers. "Morning, Chrysanthemum! Morning, Rue!"

It helped that His Majesty's half-sister was achingly similar to the blonde King. Proving the heritage had been difficult enough with Antonio literally missing and differences in her skin colour and His Majesty's skin colour. That the lost Princess ended up in the court as a flower was something the Rose never could decide was a blessing in disguise or a curse.

Greetings were returned, and more and more people joined the breakfast table. The Rose found himself glomped a second time. "Mommy!" a seven-year-old blonde boy with clear blue eyes and bushy eyebrows ran to the supervisor of His Majesty's household and grinned, gaps showing on his side teeth, before hugging his waist.

"Peter, what did I say about running in corridors?" The Rose sighed before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. His baby's limbs were growing longer and longer each day it seemed.

"Walking's not fun," the boy scowled as he was steered to a padded chair by Xin. "And reading, too!"

"Peter, education's important," the Rose was going to develop a perpetual frown dealing with his son. "And if you've been listening to your tutor, you would have known to greet everyone in the morning."

"I've been listening!" he pouted and bowed to the flowers seated around the large round table. "Good morning, Milords, Miladies!"

The Rue and the Chrysanthemum returned the greeting, while rest treated the boy of questionable paternity as though he was not there.

The Rose praised his son with a proud smile to make it up. "That's a clever boy." He dropped another kiss to his warming smooth cheek.

"Education is important, da?" The atmosphere of the room seemed to change the moment that booming child-like voice bounced off the walls. "Especially for the likes of your boy." The Chamomile joined the breakfast table with a wide, wide smile, the black and purple bruise blossoming on his left cheek proudly displayed like a gem. He took the opposite side of the round table, and almost immediately, lower-ranked concubines flocked to him, currying his favours.

The Rose placed his arm around his son's shoulder, thin body leaning unconsciously to protect the youngling. "Good morning, Lord Chamomile. Good morning, Lady Flax," he nodded at the siblings courteously, noting the jerky nod the long-haired platinum blonde sister returned. Her mood was unmistakably cloudy that morning.

The Chamomile opened his mouth to speak, but the large violet-eyed man was interrupted. "Education is important for everyone," a soft, but firm tenor voice spoke, followed by a young man, regally dressed in red breeches and ivory shirt, wavy shoulder length blonde curls (including that errant curl amongst his bangs) falling to protective dark blue eyes.

The Prince took the gloved hand that was resting on Peter's shoulder and dropped the ghost of a kiss on its back. "Good morning, Arthur," the smile he gave the other blonde was fond.

Half a step behind him, his Princess Consort, Katyusha, curtsied, "Good morning, Rose."

"Good morning, Your Highness," the Rose was, as always, overcome with feelings of pride at what a fine man the timid, shy boy had grown to be. And it was shown in his gaze, in the curve of his lips. "Good morning, Sunflower."

The couple proceeded to the middle of the table, siding with neither the Chamomile nor the Rose. The Prince and the Chamomile did exchange a frosty look, though, before poor, poor Sunflower, caught between two allegiances, tried to diffuse the tension between her brother and her husband while everyone tried to avert their eyes from her bouncing assets.

Same ol', same ol'.

"Milord," Xin reminded the flower about the appointment with the leader of the mercenaries, and he rose to his feet. "Chrysanthemum," he reached for his son's hand, which wriggled and wriggled in his hold until Peter was seated on a chair next to the flower. "I have an errand to run, please keep an eye on the little devil."

The slender man smiled politely. "It's no problem, Rose-san."

"I'll take care of him too, Arthur. Don't worry," the Prince offered, and a murderous aura materialized around the Chamomile at the open display of support for the Rose and his child of debatable fatherhood. The Sunflower looked like she was about to cry at her sibling's 'kol, kol, kol'.

The Rose attempted to maintain peace. "Oh, there is no need for the trouble, Your High-" at the Prince's glare, the Rose relented. "Thank you, Matthew."

The Emperor's twin, whom nobody ever approached for revolts because his faith in his brother was absolute, beamed.

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><p>Ludwig paced around the place (which seemed to be a study room of sorts, with hundreds of books lining the three-shelved cabinet and a mahogany desk with parchments and ink bottles strewn across the smooth, flat surface) , large hands fidgeting the sleeves of his coarse cotton shirt. He'd sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk for a total of five minutes before he'd get up again.<p>

"What's gotten you in a snit?" someone said from the doorway, and Ludwig nearly jumped.

The soldier quickly turned, dropped to his knees and greeted the noble. "Greetings, Milord."

"And to you, too," the noble moved stealthily behind the desk (he's skilled, Ludwig noted, his footsteps soundless and balanced), and gestured at the seat he'd just vacated. "Please sit down."

Ludwig stood and straightened his spine. "I will be fine."

The noble shrugged and opened a drawer to take out a large leather-bound book which, from the looks of it, must contain records of the castle's expenditures. As the noble leaved through the yellowing pages, Ludwig took some time to study the thin man – so obviously a begetter, with such feminine bone structure. And regal facial features. His eyes, he also noted, had a striking colour. Like his own guardian's eyes. A bit of a shame to hide it under such thick bangs-

"I heard you're quite skilled." The noble's low, smooth voice cut through his reverie and put him back on his toes. Damn, but Ludwig got way too relaxed out of battlefields, sometimes. Next, came his puzzlement over what to reply. Should he deny the compliment with modesty? Or should he just express his gratitude?

"How about working with us for another assignment?" the noble offered as he took out a pouch and started counting and double counting the golden coins inside.

Ludwig was spared from his uncertainty, but he landed into another predicament. How best to express rejection. "Sir," he bowed as deeply as he could, "I am extremely sorry."

The noble looked up, his black hood swishing against his shoulder. "…I could offer a higher salary," he bargained.

"I am sorry, but I am afraid the reason is personal, Minister."

The noble's right eye twitched, and Ludwig had a brief moment of _oh, I'm going to be punished now_ panic before the older blonde sighed, "I see." He finished counting the coins, tied the pouch and placed it at the end of the desk.

Ludwig let out a breath he'd been holding and was about to take his reward and leave when suddenly, a blonde man in a blue pajama robe crossed the room without a care to the world and slung an arm around the noble's shoulder. "Oi, mercenary, this begetter's not a Secretary of the State. He's my Rose," the man spoke challengingly.

Blue met blue, and Ludwig quivered from the power the other blonde emanated. He was a man with the aura of someone who was born and raised to rule and conquer.

"Your Majesty!" the hooded noble – no, a flower, he was a flower – hissed. Well, Ludwig thought, the colour and cut of his clothes were so serious, the hooded blonde must have been a member of the parliament, a Minister of Internal Affairs, an administrator – anyone whose job was _not_ to sit around looking pretty and conceive the Emperor's heir. And the noble was old, thirty, at the very least, and his ruler was vibrant, authority emanating from his very core. How could-

Why was he even thinking about this? Oh, God, he'd made a grave mistake, hadn't he.

"Your Majesty!" the flower stood and turned, his expression thoroughly scandalized, "How could you loiter around looking like this, oh, where are your servants-" As soon as the question was out, a handful of maids entered the room with a basin of water, a chest, shoes, robes and other grooming tools in hand. They settled around the Emperor as the flower continued fussing. "Go wash your face! I'll pick you a robe and a pair of decent shoes," he rambled, gloved fingers unbuttoning the Emperor's pajama deftly-

Until a large, strong hand enclosed those smaller hands and stilled their movements.

"Arthur," the young Emperor held his flower's gaze and used his other hand to unclip the symbolic hair pin (now that the flower had his back to him, Ludwig could see it) from the back of his hood. The stiff fabric came apart, exposing more sandy blonde locks on the flower's nape. "Oh!" the flower raised his hand to fix it, but His Majesty held him immobile by his chin.

"I told you to put your hair pin in a more prominent place," the Emperor chided his concubine gently. "The pin represents your title and rank, it's your crown. You should wear it proudly." His fingers combed through the shorter man's hair, finally fixing the pin somewhere above his right ear, before the Emperor summoned a maid to bring the chest closer. She'd opened it and laid out many, many sparkling gold and bejeweled pins. He eyed them critically before selecting a clover-shaped pin, bright emeralds covering the leaves. "Here," he folded the hood back to place, and fastened the new pin. "A gift."

"T-thank you." A blush spread on the flower's face, from his cheeks to his ears and neck. Pink, white and green, the begetter looked adorably as beautiful as his title.

But then he laid his eyes on a patch of yellow violet bruise on the Emperor's shoulder – a matching bruise the Chamomile had – and crescent rows of sharp teeth breaking the golden skin of the Emperor's torso, marks of possessions. The budding smile died from the Rose's lips. He cast his gaze aside. "Please get ready for the day, Your Majesty."

The taller blonde's thin brows creased and he glared at the mercenary, focusing his unhappiness and irritation on the innocent bystander.

Ludwig dropped to his knees immediately and knocked his forehead to the ground. "Utmost apologies, Your Majesty, Milord."

"That was no fault of yours," the Rose moved away from the desk, closer to the kowtowing soldier. "I wasn't exactly showcasing my title."

"That's no excuse to start voicing assumptions," The Emperor's expression turned more and more sour, his gaze to the other blue-eyed blonde accusatory. Was he…Ludwig gulped, was he _jealous _the Rose was defending him! That's…absolutely impossible right?

"Hey, I know!" The monarch clapped his hands together, a bright grin that contrasted with the feverish malice in his entirely too transparent eyes spreading on his face. "I heard you're skilled. Let's duel! If you could beat me, I'll let you go!"

Ludwig drew a sharp breath.

"Your Majesty, that's preposterous!" the Rose returned to the Emperor's side and latched onto his arm. "You're barking mad!"

"If those words were uttered by anyone but you, Arthur, I would have accused them of spreading lies to usurp my throne and put them under the guillotine." The tone the statement was delivered in was bone-chilling. It was almost a threat.

The Rose's grip on his husband's sleeve loosened, and the petite begetter stepped back slowly, thin legs quivered, a gloved hand covering his mouth, his chest heaving. The sound if his stuttering breath made Ludwig clenched his fists from imagining how those striking eyes would look, now.

"So?" His Majesty's voice was chirpy again. Such a whimsical child.

There was no choice, wasn't there?

* * *

><p>TBC to part 2<p>

A/N: 1. Begetters, in this AU, are males that can conceive and carry their foetus to term.


	3. Chapter 1, Part 2

Chapter 1, Part 2

"…What has he done this time?" Prince Matthew whispered as he settled next to the Rose, who was sitting entirely too stiffly on his seat in one of the platforms in the arena. Any stiffer, and his spine would be mistaken as a rod.

The flower was silent for a long time. Only murmurs of "utter bollocks" and "pure stupidity" were Matthew's answer. He sighed and gave up. His twin brother performing outrageous deeds weren't anything new.

"Where is Sunflower?" the Rose spoke when he was finally in a conversational mood.

The Prince shrugged. "She decided not to attend," he answered. "The platforms are small and I don't think you'll like sitting with Chamomile, but I can't be with him without you there with me as well…" the young man blushed at his accidental confession.

The Rose sighed, but his lips curled to a small smile. "Good, you're a sensible man. No one in their right mind would be comfortable being alone with Chamomile."

The unspoken agreement that Alfred was not sane was loud and clear. Especially when the Rose was eying the Emperor's figure at the centre of the arena, limbs, chest and back clad in steel protective gears, a shield on one hand and a sharp sword in his other. From the platform, the Rose could see that his eyes were gleaming, lips quirking into a victorious smirk.

Alfred did not see the mercenary as any competition at all. And that was worrying.

"What storm has he cooked up this time, aru?" the Peony's arrival startled the Rose off his fretting. His siblings, Chrysanthemum and Plum, were settling near them as well. The flowers and the Prince exchanged short greetings before the Peony added, "Aiyah, never mind, let the fool be the fool. Are you joining the bet?" He arranged his ponytail to his left shoulder and crossed his legs, unconsciously letting the slit of his deep maroon high-collared oriental silky dress reveal more of his creamy thighs.

At the mention of the bet, the Chrysanthemum turned away embarrassedly, while the Plum pretended that she never heard anything.

The Prince blinked. "What bet?"

The Peony pointed at the arena, where the two contenders were preparing themselves.

"You can't be serious," the Rose frowned.

The slender Eastern begetter shrugged. "Most flowers and courtiers have placed their bets."

"I don't think anyone would seriously bet that the mercenary would win…" the Rose retorted skeptically.

"That's not the term of the bet," the Peony remarked nonchalantly. "We're betting when His Majesty would win. Down to the most accurate minute."

The Rose shook his head and clicked his tongue. "I'll pass."

"Your Highness?" the flower peered at His Majesty's unswayable twin.

The monarch appeared to be considering the option. He opened his mouth to voice his decision, but he was interrupted.

Their attention was directed to the arena when the horn signaling the start of the duel was blown. The two blondes charged at each other, swords meeting with loud clangs. His Majesty attacked aggressively, his intention to corner his opponent palpable, while the mercenary met his moves calmly, clear blue eyes assessing the Emperor's wide-angled, inefficient movements with the intensity of a predator, his own limbs and torso moving marginally to avoid the blows and deliver some back. There was quiet destruction reflected in those irises, a beast waiting to be unfurled.

The Rose shivered when he observed those eyes. He had seen that suppressed chaos before, in someone's striking eyes, long, long ago…

"_Brat!" a thrust to his shoulder narrowly avoided, "Just because you've been given the title of a flower, and you've won Francis' favour, you think you own the court? Don't be so cocky!" Crimson eyes bore into his skull, mayhem and thirst for blood and his opponent's subjugation shining so prominently in demonic irises, the eyes of a man born for wars. "I swear, I'll make you learn your place-"_

"Alfred!"

The Rose returned to the present when Prince Matthew stood up and leaned against the railing, his brows creased in worry for his brother.

The flower followed his line of sight, and ominously, the situation had been turned. His Majesty was cornered to the end of the arena now, struggling to block successive strings of well-aimed blows delivered by the mercenary. A head-on left-handed thrust directed at the opponent's heart. A sweeping slash from the ground to eye-level. A squatting stance, followed by a powerful jump. _Alfred, don't move to the left, he is not going to cut you from above, he was going to kick you from the left,_ the Rose thought fervently, and he was surprised when a kick from the left was indeed, delivered, and Alfred was knocked to his rear. Why were the moves so familiar to him…

"_Runt," the fallen warmonger smirked and accepted the hand which had been offered to him, the line of his lips peaceful and acquiescent. He swept back the white strands of hair that were plastered to his forehead, the aquamarine and diamonds of the cornflower attached to his hair gleaming under the lights of the chandelier in the ballroom, before he grinned. "You're surprisingly talented, aren't ya?" The statement was followed by a thorough glomping."Welcome to the court!"_

The Rose's eyes widened at the revelation.

In the arena, the mercenary raised both his arms to prepare for the finishing blow. Ludwig had no intention to end the life of his Emperor, not really, he just wanted to disarm him, no injury intended…

And disarmed the Emperor did get. Winter-sky blue eyes stared disbelievingly at his sword, which had been thrown a good ten feet away, before determination entered those eyes again. The monarch rose to his feet and kicked a handful of sands to his face. Ludwig recoiled, eyes teary in pain, and charged, almost too reflexively, belatedly realizing _Mein Gott_ he was going to seriously wound his own sovereign-

A knife sailed through the air and knocked the tip of his sword, causing the sharp blade to change its course and embedded itself in the ground between His Majesty's legs.

* * *

><p><em>Oh, shit, shit, shit, <em>the Rose's heart jumped to his throat when the sword was heading towards Alfred's abdomen. His right hand reached for the knife he always kept in his pocket, and with ten years' worth of trainings of archery – thankfully not rusty yet, oh, God – managed to hit the tip of the sword with his knife.

"STOP!" Without caring about the possibility of being caught in a cross-fire, the Rose jumped over the railing in a flurry of robes and ran to his husband, glad for once that he was wearing sensible boots. The flower latched to his side and helped pull him to his feet. "The duel is over. The mercenary has deserved his freedom," he spoke firmly.

For a few seconds, the Emperor seemed like he was still too stunned for words. Unfortunately, his wits returned before the Rose could drag him completely off the arena. "He hasn't won yet! He hasn-"

The glare the blue-eyed monarch was subjected to was worthy of scaring the shit of even demons. "Your Majesty," the Rose smiled eerily, "Time is precious. I'm sure you have lots of regulations and policies to be discussed with the Prime Minister. Mind not your humble subject, the well-being of the Empire should be your top priority."

The monarch was shoved into the waiting arms of his Prime Minister, who expressed his gratitude to the flower before carting the Emperor to the study room at the speed of lightning.

Ludwig sighed in relief, glad that his predicament had met an amicable resolution. He shed his loaned protective gears and was about to walk away before the flower stopped him. "Young mercenary," he spoke without facing him, his voice low and crisp. "Do you, by any chance, know anyone by the name of Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

Ludwig's heart dropped to his stomach. Was he about to find the reason why his brother was vehemently against any involvement with the Royal family in the worst possible circumstance? Was he not out of mortal peril yet? "I-I…" He stuttered, "…he is my…guardian."

"I see." The Rose turned to face him, striking eyes searching his facial expression. There was a faraway, nostalgic look in those eyes (and was that pain?) before the begetter reached into his collar and extracted a necklace, the delicate chain tarnished yet unmistakably gold, chips of red and blue adorning the pendant.

The Rose dropped it to the ground next to Ludwig's feet. "Tell Beilschmidt," he inhaled sharply, "tell Cornflower, Arthur's fine."

The hammering of Ludwig's heart declined to normal when no more words were forthcoming. He picked up the necklace and was truly about to leave now – Feliciano had been waving his damned white flags throughout the duel and damnit if it hadn't irked him like a persistent itch – when the Rose suddenly spoke again. "And-"

The gaze he shot the mercenary was cold and dangerous now, traces of concern completely wiped out from impenetrable green. "And don't ever come near Bonnefoy Dynasty's Castle again. Better yet, flee to another kingdom. I'm not responsible for your life if my advice is unheeded."

Ludwig stepped back (in shock, not in fear, never in fear), gave a jerky nod, and left.

* * *

><p>In a hut deep, deep inside the forest across the mountain bordering the capital, a middle-aged albino sat next to the window in his kitchen, striking crimson eyes staring at the sun setting on the horizon. His fingers were rubbing a small ornament in his palm, a cornflower-shaped pin whose jewels had dimmed from lack of proper maintenance, but the gaze its owner was showering it was full of affection. "Gah," the man sighed, "you're not so old yet, awesome me, what are you being sentimental for…"<p>

The front door creaked open softly, and Gilbert perked up immediately, tackling Ludwig as soon as he was through the door. "Well, well, what do we have, here?" With the noise the gang of mercenaries was making outside, Ludwig was stupid if he thought that he could slip in unnoticed, really. "Where have you been, huh? Why did I not receive any news from you? I was so tired of waiting I almost left the hut to hunt you by myself!"

The blue-eyed blonde flushed guiltily. "…Gil, listen," he stated somberly. "Don't panic."

At the end of the narration, though, Gilbert screamed, "WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT! I TOLD YOU OVER AND OVER-" He barely managed to squash the urge to tie the boy to his bedpost and never let him out of his sight, ever and ever again-

"Gil," Ludwig interrupted softly, and presented his fist to his guardian. A gift, eh? _Does he seriously think he could bribe me_? Gilbert shook his head and sighed as he opened his hand to receive it.

And nearly dropped the necklace that was placed on his hand.

"_This way!" Loud splashing footsteps. Sweat dripping down his forehead. A sharp pain piercing his abdomen. "It's nearly the end of the tunnel, Cornflower-"_

"_Gilbert," he heaved before he fell to his knees, filthy water from the underground sewage seeping to the fabric of his trousers. "My name is Gilbert, Arthur. Gilbert Beilschmidt."_

_The teenage boy screeched to a halt and turned, forest green eyes unbelievably luminous in the dimness of the tunnel. "Gilbert," he crouched next to albino and helped him stand, one arm slung across thin, scarred shoulders. "Come on, Gilbert, you're still a free man. Don't give up yet!"_

_The younger man dragged the other for miles and miles, water sloshing around their ankles, until a ray of light emerged, a source of hope amidst the dark and the dank._

_A smile blossomed on the face of the man who had thrown away his status. "Thank Goodness," he whispered._

_The younger man let him go. "I can only accompany you till here, Gilbert."_

_The red-eyed man grabbed the blonde's hand. "Arthur-"_

_The slave dropped a kiss to the former Cornflower's hand. "May God bless you, Gilbert," his smile was fragile and heart wrenching as he patted the bump on the albino's lower belly. "May God bless you too, our lost Prince."_

"-message, 'Cornflower, Arthur's fine.'" Gilbert barely heard what Ludwig was telling him.

The albino blinked. And blinked again. "I see. Still trapped in that Castle, huh," he murmured as he moved to the kitchen absentmindedly, and sat on the chair he'd vacated. Ludwig followed him. The two existed in perfect silence before Gilbert finally spoke again. "How fine is 'fine'?"

Ludwig did not know what kind of answer his guardian wanted. "…Pardon?"

"Is…is he, I don't know, skinny? Heavily scarred? Limping?" He grew more and more worried the more he asked.

"Um. Not at all?" Ludwig fidgeted uncomfortably. Did the Rose and his guardian actually know each other? "His clothing's too drab for a flower's, but-"

"Hold your horses," Gilbert raised his hand. "A flower?" He gaped.

"Well…" Ludwig shrugged, "Remember the Rose I was telling you about?" He got a quick nod. "Arthur is the Rose."

Gilbert's jaw was opened so wide Ludwig feared for his bones. "You mean, the Rose of Emperor Alfred?"

A vein popped on the mercenary's temple. "Which other Emperor could we possibly be talking about?"

Gilbert stared dumbly at the tarnished necklace in his palm before he laughed out loud, his other hand banging the surface of the kitchen table. "Oh, that runt," he panted through bouts of laughter, "That runt. All of us underestimated you, didn't we?"

Ludwig shrugged at the display of insanity and went off to start cooking the pasta Feliciano had been noisy about.

TBC

A/N: Hold your horses! I know you may have lots of questions, but please be patient. The only hints I can drop you is this: 1. Emperor Alfred isn't the only one who has a harem; his father had one, too. 2. In Qin Dynasty, the tradition was that when an Emperor died his concubines were either buried with him, or rotting in an obscure part of the Palace. 3. Power struggles between Princes are no fun, seriously.


	4. Interlude I: That Guy is a Monster

A/N: twistedsheets10's comment about the 'discussion' inspired me to write this vignette.

Warning: There's allusion to sex. AmeRuss. My first time trying. God Bless my soul.

* * *

><p>Interlude I: That Guy is a Monster<p>

Alfred pouted as he was dragged back to the Castle. True, he knew he'd been unfair. The mercenary fought in the duel with the reluctance of causing the Emperor any real physical harm burdening his moves, but damn if Alfred didn't want to teach Arthur a lesson, too. _Stop dressing like a boring old man, before it costs lives._ Alfred couldn't stand it whenever anyone mocked Arthur (incidental or not, it matter not a whit) so on his part, Arthur should start dressing like someone befitting the rank of a flower, the elites of the elites in his harem. Arthur should stop giving others the opportunity to look down on him. Hadn't he been raising Arthur's allowance for such reason? Oh, God, how Arthur pissed him. He wanted to shout at the concubine. "Waaaiittt," Alfred whined at his Prime Minister and twisted in his grasp.

Only to see his Rose conversing with the mercenary whose life he'd insisted on saving. And Alfred saw red.

"…Your Majesty?" the Prime Minister prompted when his monarch stilled.

The Prime Minister watched the Emperor's white-knuckled clenched fist troublingly before the blonde shot him a thousand-watt plastic grin. "About taxes, you said?"

The Prime Minister relented. It was best to provide his temperamental monarch the distraction he needed.

* * *

><p>"M-mi-milord-" his petite attendant stuttered.<p>

"Hmm?" the Chamomile looked up from the cup of tea [1] in his hands. "What is it, Raivis?"

The small-boned teenage boy opened his mouth to talk, but it was absolutely unnecessary. His Majesty had stepped into the Chamomile's chamber, his back leaning on the purple and beige patterned wallpaper, his eyes hidden by his fringe and the bent of his head.

The Chamomile smiled cheerfully. "Alfred!" He stood up and approached his husband, thick pajama robes swishing around his ankles. His timid attendant was all too grateful to leave the chamber and lock the doors. Chubby fingers caressed the Emperor's defined jaws. "I'm so happy you're visiting me aga-"

"Shut up," Alfred yanked on his concubine's beloved scarf and bared his teeth to him. "I'm not in the mood for fucking pleasantries."

_Ah_, Ivan died a little inside, _so this is the scenario again._Outwardly, his grin merely widened to aggravate the monarch. "Alfred is impatient tonight, da?"

"I said SHUT UP!" the Chamomile was shoved to the sofa in the living room, his spine digging to the padding of the furniture he had previously been lounging on. Forceful hands tore the flimsy pajama fabric open (ahh, his tenth pajama this month. Luckily the allowance Alfred set aside for him allowed for frequent purchases of new pajamas), sending tiny buttons under the tables and sofas. Next, his scarf was vehemently removed from his person, tossed aside to a corner without a care to his feelings, and the Chamomile snapped.

A well-placed kick to the Emperor's gut and a slam to his shoulder later, Alfred was the one who laid beneath his concubine, toned, tanned legs pressed down by heavy knees while his wrists were locked together by the Chamomile's large, strong hands.

"You've been a bad, bad boy today," Ruthless violet eyes stared down at the monarch's body. Though Alfred was still clothed, Ivan's gaze was stripping him naked, and he quivered in thrill. "Challenging others into duels, sparking troubles and putting yourself in danger…" Using his teeth and his free hand, the Chamomile tore a strip of fabric from whatever was left of his pajama and his eyes gleamed with the promises of what was to come. "Bad boys must be punished, da?"

Alfred struggled violently when his hands were tied behind his back, but his honest, shameful body said otherwise.

The Chamomile could be depended upon to make him scream and beg, shedding tears and blood, etching bruises and marks of possessions on his skin, taking and taking and taking until he had nothing left, until he forgot his woes, _he was merely an animal following his primal instincts_, until he lay spent and sated, the coil tightly wounded at the pit of his stomach satisfied and evaporated to thin air.

But not this time.

"Sleep," the Chamomile's large, soft fingers, the fingers that had forcefully stretched his innards and painted destruction on his person, were carding through Alfred's hair soothingly. "You have an audience with General Lincoln tomorrow. You have to be well rested."

Alfred squirmed and nuzzled against Chamomile's warm, chubby flesh, his ear resting over his heart, but he could not sleep. The monster within him was not quenched yet.

"I gotta go," Alfred pushed away the arm that was wrapped around him and left Chamomile's bed. He located a robe lying on the floor and pulled it on, regardless of who it belonged to. "See you tomorrow, Ivan." He left without looking back.

Ivan did not even bother to chase him. He merely sighed and pulled the blanket over his naked form.

"He's too selfish."

The violet-eyed flower jumped when a voice slipped through the door, which had been left ajar. The door creaked open, revealing a lone, slender figure, long platinum blonde strands resting limply on thin shoulders. "Why do you stay with him, bratya?" there was hatred in her eyes, pure, concentrated hatred, directed to the blue-eyed blonde who had, from time to time, left the begetter she'd die for.

"Natalie," Ivan pushed himself up and propped himself on his elbow. "He's also your husband. Don't say that."

Flax's expression fell even further. The siblings were quiet for a long, long time (till Ivan's arm was crammed and the man lay back on his bed), before she finally requested, "Can I sleep with you tonight, bratya?"

Ivan mulled over the request (her broken, broken expression had stopped him from refusing her outright), before he sighed and pulled down his blanket. "Come here, sestra."

The grateful smile on Flax's face was blinding.

* * *

><p>"His Majesty's gift?" Xin asked her master quietly as she took off the flower's hood.<p>

The Rose merely gave a quiet nod and stood straight with his arms raised so that his attendant could take off his robe, waist coat, breeches, shirt and cravat, leaving him in his undergarments. Xin quickly helped her master put on a pajama robe. He sat down in front of his vanity and waited as his attendant carried his dirty clothes to the hamper and prepared towels and a basin of water he could wash his face with.

"His Majesty has ordered the royal tailor to visit you tomorrow, Milord," Xin sat on the floor and brought the Rose's feet to her lap, her touches gentle as she washed the appendages, deeply mindful of a particularly nasty old gash across his lower calf. "Merchants from the East and the South have arrived in the capital a few days ago, and His Majesty had asked His Highness to select the finest silk and cotton for you. The samples should be available tomorrow." She chattered as she encased his battered feet carefully in soft woolen socks.

"I'm not interested," the Rose sighed and padded to his large four-poster bed, his footsteps light and soundless. "Tell them I'm really grateful for their present, but it is entirely unnecessary. The intention is good enough."

Xin opened the blanket for him and stepped away, pulling the green curtains around the bed close once he'd mounted the furniture. "His Majesty insisted."

The Rose sighed again as he pulled the blanket to cover his shoulder. "I see. Good night, Xin."

"Good night, Milord." She blew the candles off as she left.

The rose burrowed into the warmth of his bed (such soft fabric, such luxury) and drifted to sleep in no time.

A few hours later, though, someone approached his bed. The Rose perked at the crescendo of heavy, limping footsteps, alarmed by the possibility of an assassination, and reached out for the knife he'd kept under his pillow. He'd moved away from the opening of the curtains and crouched against the headboard, a prey waiting to pounce.

The curtains parted to reveal familiar mussed blonde hair and bleary blue eyes, and the Rose sagged in relief.

But that relief was short-lived. Upon laying his eyes on the Emperor, the Rose froze in trepidation at the vicious, stark bruises (yesterday's violets were barely fading). The robe that was slipping off His Majesty's shoulders (revealing more torn skin and marks of atrocities) was oversized. _It's Chamomile's_, the revelation hit Arthur with such bitterness, _the size and the style, there's no other person…_He dropped the knife and covered his mouth, willing the bile in his throat to return to his stomach.

"…Why," Alfred slurred as he invited himself into the Rose's bed, his movements sluggish as he invaded his concubine's personal space and trapped him against the headboard. "Why did you insist on saving him?"

Alfred talked as if he was drunk, though Arthur could not smell alcohol in his breath. The Rose was truly worried about the other blonde. His fingers wrapped around the Emperor's wrist, gently rubbing at the angry red welts on his skin. "Who are you talking about?"

Alfred's eye twitch was the sole warning the Rose got before his collar was yanked by the monarch's free hand. "Stop talking to me as though I'm a child!" he shouted and pinned Arthur to the headboard, "You know who I'm talking about! The mercenary! What did you talk to him about, huh? Did you invite him to your bed? Why is it so important to you that he's alive?"

_Because he's your half-brother!_ "I did no such thing," the Rose replied calmly, "I merely do not condone unreasonable beheadings. You can chalk it up to my background. Your citizens, too, won't put their faith in a ruler who kills indiscriminately." He turned to lean one side of his face on the wall. A sliver of light that filtered through the partings of the curtains fell on the column of pale flesh of the concubine's neck, illuminating a large, hideous mark at the bottom of his collarbone.

Alfred let go of his concubine's collar and pressed his nose to the patch of flesh above the mark, his breath wetting Arthur's damp skin. "Thousands of lives have perished in Emperor Braginski's hands," he argued. "And the North still prospers."

"Do you want your citizens to fear you?" The Rose sighed and petted his husband's hair, working out the tangles soothingly. "Empress Aisha of the South is favoured for her wisdom [2]. Your father, too, ruled with compassion and was well loved by his people."

"It's your fault." Unsteady arms enveloped the slenderer man into a tight, suffocating embrace. "You're the one who drive me to unreasonable killings."

The Rose's eyes flashed. "How have I done so?" his breath hitched in his effort to quell his temper.

Alfred flinched at the ire that managed to seep out in Arthur's voice and straightened himself, large fingers cupping pale, thin cheeks. "Coz you're not mine!" he blurted heatedly, blue eyes locked with green.

Arthur's eyes widened. His voice trembled as he responded, his lips and lashes quivering. "How could I be more 'yours'?" his chest heaved, as though Alfred had stabbed him on the heart. "My life, my body, my heart, my _death_, I've handed to you. I have nothing left. What more do you expect from me?" he choked as a film of tears gathered in his eyes, blurring the green of his irises.

Alfred opened his mouth. "You-" _You don't prioritise me. You avoid me. Your mind is always far, far away, somewhere I can't reach. Nobody knows what you aim to do by…by isolating yourself, dressing shabbily and not attempting to strengthen your presence in court at all._

_Why don't you communicate with me?_

Arthur was motionless when Alfred forced a kiss on his lips, the Emperor's tongue pushing past pliant lips before any permission was granted. The Rose continued lying beneath His Majesty unresponsively until he seemed to have arrived to a decision and hugged the man above him, his tongue and lips accepting the advances resignedly.

Fortunately, the Emperor's libido had been completely spent. When the blue-eyed blonde still could not get it up after several minutes of making out, the monarch sighed and pulled away, settling himself on the Rose's bed with the begetter in his arms. The two breathed in silence for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry," His Majesty finally offered.

The Rose was silent, but his hands were rubbing circles on his husband's back, tender and unhesitant.

The concubine only closed his eyes one hour after the man in his bed started snoring.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, was resolved yet.

TBC

* * *

><p>Notes:<br>1. Russia is a tea-drinking country too, okay. But the vodka-drinking culture is stronger, so tea-drinking is often overlooked.

2. When I first wrote this, India wasn't revealed to be male yet. She won't appear much in this fic anyways, so please bear with the OC.


	5. Chapter 2,1: Romance of Two Generations

A/N: Are you unhappy that I included AmeRuss in the last chapter? Please write me a review. Tell me that you don't like the AmeRuss, you want to kill Ivan (or poor Ivan, even), Alfred is a jerk, poor Arthur, etc. Don't just say nothing.

I already mentioned that this story won't be strictly USUK. Alfred has a frigging harem. He's gotta be having a physical relationship (or even emotional connection) with Ivan, Kiku, Toris and even, perhaps, Yao. If you don't like that, I suggest you leave this story.

I'm serious. Chapter 2 (part 1 – idk) will contain implied FRUK and IggyPort.

What I can promise is USUK ending. But you gotta deal with how Ivan and Kiku feel about Alfred. They're quite integral to this story.

Anyways, please review. Unhappy writer = slow updates beyond chapter 2, part 13.1 (which I have uploaded in LJ).

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: The Romance of Two Generations<p>

Summary: Whereby a young boy entered the Castle long, long ago, rose and fell in power, gave away his heart to two men, and waited for death in that Castle.

Pairings (in this vignette): FrancexScotland, blinkandit'sgone FrancexEngland, FrancexJeanneD'Arc, (in the whole story): AmericaxEngland (main), AmericaxRussia, AmericaxVarious, CanadaxUkraine.

* * *

><p>Part 2.1: Before the Tragedy<p>

Arthur Kirkland first entered Emperor Francis' court when he was eleven.

His brother, James, had just been appointed as the Emperor's _Thistle_ then, and it was common for consorts to come with their siblings. The rivalry for His Majesty's favours could be intense, at the very least, and sisterhood (or brotherhood, in many cases) had proved a major factor in diffusing the tensions in some years (and worsening them in others). In any case, Arthur had come to the court with his brother _just in case_. ('Just in case…what?' you ask. Just in case something. Pessimism ran in the blood of the Noble House of Kirkland's. They made back-up plans for their back-up plans. In any case, their youngest surely could learn something, _anything_, in the court).

Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew were merely infants, then, born from Empress Consort Iris, lonely in the sea of flowers and nobles of the age of consent who were lost in the pursuit of pleasure and power. Other flowers of the Emperor's harem had yet to beget siblings for the twins. Arthur was very possibly the third youngest person in the whole of Emperor Francis' court. Nobody was surprised when Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew had taken to tailing the older boy within his first two weeks of stay in the Castle.

"I did not come here to be a babysitter," Arthur had complained, more than once, but the Thistle only ruffled his brother's hair. "Come on," the redhead grinned, "You're the baby of our family." He ignored the blonde's indignant cries of 'Am not!' 'I am a perfect gentleman, bloody hell' and continued, "Taking care of children may be a valuable learning experience for you. You may gain patience, amongst other virtues."

"Please Arfur," Prince Alfred's patented 'puppy-eyed' melting gaze, and Prince Matthew's quiet efforts to please him (always finishing his homework diligently, always following his suggestions, always drawing him gifts, and oh, their toothy smiles) eventually convinced him to take on the role of the Princes' tutor. "Oh alright, you git," he sighed.

Prince Alfred jumped all over his bed in voicing his delight (loudly), while Prince Matthew snuggled to his side, whispering, "Thank you, Arfur."

Looking back, those were the happiest years he'd ever experienced in Bonnefoy Dynasty's Castle.

* * *

><p>"What do you love about His Majesty?" Arthur asked his brother, one day.<p>

The two of them were attending a party hosted by Emperor Francis, waltzing across the dance floor, which was filled by couples in dresses and robes of all kinds of colours, twirling like petals floating on the air in a perfect day in autumn. Arthur was putting whatever he'd learned about ballroom dancing into practice (he's eleven, he would have his debutante soon), while the Thistle was humouring his baby brother. Throughout the dance, the older begetter's eyes were glued to the throne, where the curly haired blue-eyed monarch was, flirting and conversing happily with the Cornflower and the pregnant Carnation [1], letting out loud guffaws once in a while. Empress Consort Iris sat a small distance away, seemingly shaking her head at her husband's childish behaviour, a smile adorning her gentle features all the same.

The Thistle faltered in his steps and Arthur barely managed to save his foot from a painful demise. A blush spread on James' face, covering his ears and his neck, and Arthur was having too much fun to scowl at his brother. "W-wh-what are you talking about? Me? Loving him?" He tried to scoff and failed miserably.

"Rubbish," Arthur snorted and nudged at his brother's shoulder to remind him to twirl his partner. "It's so blatantly obvious. The Nile isn't just a river in the South, you now."

"Oh, belt up," the Thistle groaned, before he finally sighed forlornly when the rhythm slowed and they adjusted their movements accordingly. The light from the humoungous chandelier in the centre of the decadent, lavishly decorated ballroom scattered against the gems on his brother's newly bestowed crown. Arthur could feel the gazes of jealous concubines even on his back, coveting the rank of a flower so badly. Arthur didn't understand that. He was neither a common concubine (he was too young for that) nor an apprentice of an administrator. His role was uncertain. His fate was uncertain.

"He's so…" just as Arthur had given up ever getting an answer from his sibling, the Thistle spoke, green eyes (the same shade as his) gyrating back to the throne. "He's so charming. And sensitive. Don't you think?"

Arthur thought back to his first encounter with the Emperor (and that pat on his behind), and shuddered. "Sensitive my arse," he murmured under his breath.

The Thistle laughed as he dipped his partner, the large hand pressed to the small of Arthur's back through the fabric of his lavish robe, the waist cinched to create the illusion of feminine curves, patterns of lush green palms and ivies embroidered to the hems. "Don't be deceived by his façade. He's actually quite thoughtful."

Arthur's waited for the dizziness that came with the changes in his axis to pass before he retorted, quite disbelievingly, "I will believe that when I see that with my own eyes."

The Thistle laughed again. He sure was merry tonight. "Be careful what you wished for."

"I'm not wish-" Arthur was interrupted when the dance ended. He bowed hurriedly when his brother bowed to him. The older begetter's eyes met a pair of blue eyes across the room and an ecstatic smile broke on his face. "I've got to go, brat."

"Not a brat!" Arthur complained, but nobody was listening.

* * *

><p>"Your 'C' needs to be move cursive, Your Highness," Arthur guided the four-year-old's clumsy fingers in his own hands. The boy's face scrunched into a look of intense concentration, large tooth biting his lower lip, before he finished the letter and beamed at his tutor.<p>

Arthur bestowed the young Prince a smile, even though his 'C' was still crooked. The boy tried so hard, after all. "You're getting better and better," he complimented.

"Um, Arfur," Prince Matthew looked up from his parchment and showed his work to the other two hesitantly. "H-how's mine?"

Arthur blinked. Well, that's a perfect 'C', for someone who just started learning how to read and write. The younger of the twins was well-behaved, hardworking and talented. He liked him more and more as days blended to weeks and months. "His Highness, that's a perfect 'C'!" He exclaimed and reached over the table to give the infant a pat on his soft, soft hair, his lips curving wider.

The smile that appeared on Prince Matthew's face was tooth-achingly adorable. He savoured the praise, nuzzling his face to the contact so sparsely given.

Prince Alfred huffed and threw his pencil to his twin. The piece of wood and carbon hit him on the temple and Prince Matthew's darker blue eyes turned teary. "A-ah," he blinked profusely to prevent himself for crying.

"Your Highness!" Arthur glared at his charge, "that's unbecoming and totally uncalled for! Apologise to Prince Matthew."

"I don't understand you!" Prince Alfred crossed his arms and whined. "Stop using big words."

A vein popped on Arthur's temple. "Your Highness-"

"Let _mon petit garcons_be, _mon cher_," someone spoke from the doorway. Upon sighting Emperor Francis, handsomely decked in white and navy blue riding clothes, Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew ran to their father. "Daddy!" the older twin raised both of his arms to be carried, while Prince Matthew kept a slight distance. "Papa," he greeted shyly.

Arthur bowed deeply. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty."

The Emperor surveyed his children's tutor as he picked Prince Matthew into his arms. "You're Thistle's brother," recognition flashed across his eyes.

The not-yet teenager nodded. "Arthur Kirkland at your service, Your Majesty," he introduced himself (again) distractedly, one eye kept at Prince Alfred, who looked like he was about to cry (and throw terrible tantrums), but cry heartbrokenly nevertheless.

"Hmm," Emperor Francis approached the shorter blonde and held his chin. Commanding blue eyes scrutinised his features so, so closely it made him nervous (Arthur didn't want to think too much about why he didn't want to be found lacking. The man's his ruler. O-of course he didn't want to be in the Emperor's bad book. Bad book. Is there such an expression?), before Emperor Francis finally commented, fingers caressing the curvature of his cheek gently. "Your eyes are different from Thistle's."

Arthur blinked. That was the first time he'd heard someone commenting such. "They're exactly the same shade. They're Mother's." He spoke before he could stop himself and blushed in shame at the fact that he'd just talked back to _his ruler. Way to go, Arthur!_

The Emperor merely took it in stride and laughed good-naturedly, his pupils dilating slightly. "I'm not talking about the spectrum of colour your irises have." He smiled bemusedly as he finally, finally stepped back from Arthur's personal space. "Your eyes have steel in them. Thistle's, on the other hand, have fire."

Arthur breathed in relief. "Aren't they the same?" He'd been told, repeatedly, that James and he were the ones with the strongest character in their family (other than Erin, but Erin's different.) He almost smacked himself when he realised he'd spoken out of turn again.

Emperor Francis merely shrugged, his eyes still staring at his reddening ears, cheeks and neck, making him self-conscious. _What's wrong with my face? Is there some carbon stains on them?_

"Steel lasts longer than fire," he murmured softly before he turned back to the door. "We're going for a picnic, _mon petit garcons_!" He announced to the Princes.

Prince Matthew smiled widely and wrapped his tiny arms around his father's neck in thanks, while Prince Alfred merely followed his father with a pout until Arthur bent down and reached for the Prince's little hand and squeezed it. He smiled at the young monarch when his little head shot up and big, pale blue eyes stared at his tutor in wonder. "Yay!" He belatedly voiced his enthusiasms, "A picnic! Go with us, Arfur!"

Arthur inhaled sharply. He certainly didn't intend for this to happen. "I-" he looked away to think of how to voice his refusal.

Only to end up looking at Prince Matthew's expectant eyes and the Emperor's bemused eyes. When their eyes met, the adult gave him a nod. "My children are really quite taken with you, aren't they?" he chuckled. "Of course, you're welcome to come along. You know how to ride a horse, don't you?"

"I-I'm not dressed for horse-riding," Arthur argued, struggling to get himself heard amidst Alfred's gleeful squeals.

His Majesty snorted. "There's no such thing as 'dressed for horse-riding'. Just come along." He exited the study room without waiting for further replies.

Faced with such a directive, Arthur had no other choice but to obey.

* * *

><p>The countryside the Emperor had brought him to made Arthur miss the ancestral grounds he thought he'd never miss, rolling green hills as far as the eyes could see, the woods in the forest reverberating with energy and the buzzing of the faeries. Arthur enjoyed the wind that seeped through the pores of his clothes and blew his hair back, truly tasting freedom after one month of being cooped inside the thick walls of the Castle, adapting to the judgmental gazes, meddlesome ears (which were truly everywhere), vicious lips sprouting ungainly lies, twisting and deliberately misinterpreting facts, the uncertainties regarding his role…<p>

"Feels good, doesn't it?" if the question had been asked anywhere else, Arthur would have dismissed it as an attempt to flirt. But here, riding his mare though he was riding the wind, one hand curled protectively around Prince Matthew (who seemed to be hanging on for dear life), a small smile playing on his lips, golden curls fluttering in the breeze and the glaring sun silhouetting his figure, Emperor Francis looked otherworldly, an angel sworn to protect mankind.

Arthur blushed madly at his train of thoughts and berated himself for coming up with such a ridiculous notion. Belatedly, he realised the His Majesty was waiting for his answer and he nodded. "Yes, it does," he couldn't help but smile.

"Good," the Emperor returned to watching his path. Ahead of them, the Cornflower was racing his mare with Prince Alfred, who was seated in front of the rider, squealing in thrill at the speeding.

"Your Majesty?" Arthur proceeded once the Emperor gave him a nod. "We aren't travelling with any bodyguards. Don't you think that it's…risky?"

"As long as you have the awesome me, you don't need to worry about your safety!" The Cornflower slowed down (causing Prince Alfred to whine in complaint) to trod alongside the Emperor and grinned rakishly, silver hair mussed around his crown.

Arthur raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"He's right," Emperor Francis remarked. "The Cornflower was a renowned General before he became a flower. He'd led our soldiers to numerous victories."

"Including the Battle of Gaul," the Cornflower puffed out his chest.

_Pray tell,_Arthur's humoungous brow remained raised, _why would a veteran General become a flower?_He decided to let the matter go, nevertheless. "Her Majesty is not joining us?"

A shadow flashed across the Emperor's eyes, passing too quickly for Arthur to dwell over. "She's not well," the smile that followed was wan.

"Oh," Arthur bent his head in shame. Stupid, stupid Arthur. And the Emperor had been in a good mood before that. If Emperor Francis was less gracious, he could have him beheaded.

The silence that crept after the somber conversation had been suffocating until the Emperor broke it with an announcement. "We've reached our destination." The curl of his lips finally turned upwards again, wide and charming.

Arthur turned to look. And had his breath stolen from him.

Roughly a hundred yards ahead of them, there was a lake, hidden by the surrounding hills. The surface of the lake was clear and still as a giant mirror, reflecting the beauty of the world above. A large group of swans and flamingos were bathing at the side of the lake, chattering in flocks. It looked like a little piece of heaven, carved out from the sky. Empty. Theirs.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Emperor Francis whispered, his lips barely moving. Nonetheless, the wind carried his message to Arthur, who was too speechless to respond. "It's my secret hide out," he gave Arthur a secretive smirk. [2]

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. _Don't be fooled, Arthur!_ He scowled inwardly as he shifted his gaze away from the monarch, his cheeks impossibly warm. _I'm sure he'd said that to each and every person he'd brought here!_

The group of five spread their cloth on an even ground under a tree near the lake, the lush green canopy sheltering their pale skin. Arthur helped a wriggling infant Prince out of his shirt, tunic and breeches and into his bathing suit while the Emperor did the same to his quieter, obedient twin. Promptly, the Cornflower and Prince Alfred ran into the lake, splashing cool, refreshing water (Arthur merely took off his shoes and socks to dip his feet, keeping to the shadows. He couldn't swim, so that was enough), while Prince Matthew stuck near to the edges, sitting on the shallow end and shaping something with the wet, sticky ground.

The Emperor stayed over the cloth with the picnic basket they'd brought, retrieving cutleries and food he'd packed from the Castle. Lured by the delicious scent, Arthur padded back to the cloth, the blades of the grass ticking the soles of his feet pleasantly, and sat at the end.

"Come closer," the Emperor chuckled at the mixture of comprehension and hunger in the almost-teenager's expression and handed him a plate of sandwich. "It's been a while since lunch. You should be hungry."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," The tutor accepted the food gratefully and took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed. "This is really good," he spoke in wonder (after he'd swallowed, of course), "If I may ask, Your Majesty, which chef have you engaged to prepare the dish? I would like to recommend him to my brother."

The Emperor took on an amused expression on his face. "Actually, I cooked this."

Arthur blinked. And blinked. A ruler in the kitchen? Performing a servant's task? Really?

"You don't believe me," the Emperor raised a sandwich to his mouth and took a bite, himself. "I like to cook whenever I have something on my mind," he merely continued, "Cooking is a matter of feelings and tastes. It engages my senses and soothes my mind."

"I see," Arthur wanted to believe that the Emperor was lying. But the passion in his voice when he explained about the ingredients (they have to be marinated in a pinch of salt and pepper for 90 minutes, no more or less) and cooking procedures, the childishness, they could not have been faked. All of them were true.

"And try this crème brûlée," the Emperor offered him the sweet-smelling, delectable, mouth-watering dessert. "You'll get a pleasant surprise!" he stated enthusiastically.

Arthur dug in eagerly, having trusted His Majesty's supposed culinary skills, and closed his eyes in pleasure when the cream melted on his tongue "Hmmmm," _oh the crispy caramels were exquisite wait a moment, was that-_

"…This taste…" Arthur consumed his treat in a daze, his tongue licking greedily at the absolutely fucking delicious burnt sienna coloured custard base. "What is…?"

"Do you like it?" Arthur found the Emperor's eyes staring fixatedly on his lips, the radii of his pupils dilating as he spoke. "It's cocoa. I had it imported from the South. Do you like it?" He breathed huskily.

Arthur gulped. His throat and lips felt dry for some reasons. "Yes," He licked his lips, his eyes locked on the monarch's mystifying gaze, enraptured by a world he'd never experienced.

The older male leaned closer, and closer, till the two of them were sharing one patch of breath. Arthur breathed with anticipation, his chest heaving at touching the door to this possibility. The fact that he'd been irritated by this male just a few days ago, and who he was, fled out of the window. Now, now the descriptions he'd only heard from the maids' gossiping were about to come true to him.

Arthur was both surprised and disappointed when the Emperor's lips latched on the side of his mouth for a total of three seconds, sucking on the flesh of his cheek, his tongue swiping upward horizontally, before the Emperor stepped back. "There was a stain next to your lips," he stated, his tone nonchalant, though his lips was curved to a smile.

"O-oh," Arthur could only react monosyllabically, his entire face, ears and necks flushing red. He turned away from his ruler to hide his face, his hands covering his cheeks horrifically. "T-th-thank you," he stuttered.

"It's my pleasure," oh, the Emperor's voice was teasing. Bastard!

A moment of silence passed again, entirely comfortable this time (at least Emperor Francis thought so), until he felt that the young, young begetter was ready to face him and converse again. "How's your life in court so far?" he offered a starting point.

"It's been good," Arthur slowly turned back, small patches of adorable pink still etched on his cheeks.

"Thistle's been showing you the ropes?"

The nod Emperor Francis'd gotten was hesitant. The poor young boy seemed lost.

The older male stared at the newcomer in his court with concern. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Your Majesty," Arthur kept his distance. And why should he not? His Emperor had other matters of great importance of worry about.

His Majesty sighed. "Arthur," he called him by his first name. Not by his last name. "How do I wish to solve any matters of the Empire if I can't even solve the matters of an individual? As a citizen of the West, your welfare is important to me," His Majesty's gaze was genuine and sincere.

Arthur blushed at having his thoughts read out so predictably. He fidgeted under the firm gaze before he finally caved and share his true predicament. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do in the Castle," he started softly. "I'm here to accompany James – the Thistle, sorry-" Emperor Francis waved his hand dismissively at the carelessness, urging Arthur to continue, "But as what? All my life, I've lived with my future planned and my roles defined clearly. I've found great enjoyment in tutoring the Princes, of course," Arthur added the last statement quickly. "It's just…I'm still restless."

"Well," the Emperor paused to buy time to consider his response. "Well," wistfulness entered his dark blue irises. "I'd say, adopt another perspective. Something you consider 'uncertainties' may mean 'freedom' to another."

"…I know, but my mindset can't-" Arthur hated that his retort sounded whiny so he cut it off.

But the Emperor still listened to him patiently. "…Perhaps you just haven't been talking to the right people," he advised gently. "Say, have you learned sword fighting?"

Arthur blinked at the somewhat complete non-sequitur. "A little. Father preferred to teach us archery. But what's that got to do with-"

Abruptly, the Emperor dusted his breeches and stood up. "OI, GIIILLL-" he shouted for the Cornflower, who was happily swinging Prince Alfred around in the air a distance away. The albino paused as the Prince clung to him in dizziness, and called back. "S'UP?"

"Are you willing to give young Lord Kirkland here weekly lessons of sword fighting?" He pointed at the almost-teenager with his thumb.

Arthur shot up and flailed. "Your Majesty, that's not-"

The flower blinked before a large grin appeared on his face. "Sure! It'll keep the awesome me from being rusty!" He interrupted before Prince Alfred pawed at him to get him to continue playing with him.

"There," the Emperor grinned at the young lord, too. The unbidden thought in Arthur's mind was _He looks handsome._ "That's the first step. I'm sure you don't need to spend all your time with my sons, you can spend two to three hours a day minimum, exploring and developing new skills and talents. Learn sword fighting from Gil. Learn accounts management from Lord Zwingli. Learn how to play a musical instrument from the Edelweiss. Learn about cooking from me, if you want. Then, in a few years, you decide what you want to pursue."

Suddenly, a world of opportunities appeared in front of Arthur's eyes, and a wide grin so rare that caused his eyes to twinkle and his cheeks to flush in excitement appeared on his face. He looked his most attractive then, full of youth and hope in his life to come. "Thank you very much, Your Majesty!"

For a moment, the Emperor appeared stunned, before he replied with a suave smile. "It's my pleasure."

"DAADDDYYY," the Cornflower and the Princes waded back to the shore, wet, wrinkly and happy, before Prince Alfred brightened at the sight of the food. "Daddy's home-cooked meals! YAAYY!" He dug in enthusiastically, and they continued to eat as a group of five, chattering with vigour and much laughter (as Arthur kept an eye on Prince Alfred and helped wiped the crumbs around Prince Matthew's mouth).

Nobody would know that those happy times were the quiet before the storm.

TBC

* * *

><p>1. Carnation is Antonio. BTT ahoy :)<p>

2. Francis is such a pedo here :p (considering Arthur was still 11 and Francis most likely 20+, what's with his having four years old sons), but the setting is kinda medieval, so it's ok, eh?


	6. Chapter 2,2: Letters

A/N: Damn ff net has no strike through. I edited the html twice but the s xxx /s is not captured. wtf. In the letters, words that are not bold are meant to be strike-through, ok?

Warning: Contains allusions to PortIggy

Some replies:

ParadoxalPansy: Dear, you've disabled your PM so I have no other way but to reply you here. Thank you for reviewing EVERY chapter. I love you for that. To answer your question, the purpose of the concubines is to provide the Emperor with heirs, not so much about gratification. So yes, all concubini are supposed to be begetters, but how can you tell whether a pretty boy is a begetter or a male? You can't really, not just by looking. Thru medical inspection, yes, one can tell. I'm not sure this is a discussion you want to have if mpreg icks you.

Hanabi: You'll have your answers soon :) Thank you for the review!

obsessive anon: (I have no other way of replying you don't I) Ah, thank you for your opinion. Well. I have to apologise. I don't quite like AmeRuss myself. I'm actually very similar to you in terms of my OTP preferences. In addition to USUK, I like Shimaguni (JPEng), PortIggy, EngCanada, RussEng, WalesEng, IndiaEng (my newest OTP after Hetaween :D), basically England being paired with almost anyone (except BTT, interestingly). I had even thought of putting Arthur (instead of Alfred) in the role of the Emperor. But that would make the plot very different.

Anyways, about the AmeRuss in this story. I have to admit I've never really examined what kind of love they can feel for each other, and how such feeling can come about. So I took the easiest route and give Ivan the role of...Alfred's distraction. Someone he can vent his frustrations to. Ivan actually has a sad role. You'll find out why after...100K more words, may be haha. Again, thank you for reviewing!

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Romance of Two Generations<p>

2.2. Letters

Dearest To**_ Dear Gabi,_**

**_I've settled in Emperor Francis' court just fine. The Princes have taken a liking to me (because I'm the third youngest person here) and I've been appointed as their tutor. They're just starting to learn how to read and write. Prince Matthew is the most adorable boy there is on earth. He is diligent and well-mannered. A bit meek and shy, but I'm sure he can grow out of it. Prince Alfred, on the other hand…_**he's driving me nuts sometimes**_ he needs more attention. He is very bright and active. He has his adorable moments, too._**

**_Emperor Francis had taken to introducing me to people who are willing to teach me various things. One of his flowers, the Cornflower, was a General and he's been teaching me sword fighting (amongst other things…like how to handle throwing knives or give your opponent a disarming right hook). He's _**badass**_ rakish and rugged, though sometimes I can't stomach his over-confidence._**

**_I've also been apprenticing with Lord Zwingli, one of the Financial Officers in the Castle. He's taken to holding his sword against people's necks at the drop of a hat, but his skills in banking and accounts management are sheer brilliance. I think I may have an interest in numbers. _[1]**

**_How are things on your end? Do you still visit my family? How's Father? The manor must be quiet with only Rhys left. Have Mother and Father succeeded in finding him a potential bride? You should get him away from his pet sheep sometimes, I don't think the relationship they have is healthy._**

I miss you.

Love**_ Yours sincerely,_**

**_Arthur Kirkland_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dear Gabi,<em>**

**_How's the new neighbour, Baron Sadiq Adnan, like? The phrasings in your most recent letter worry me. I heard that men from the borders of the South and the East are violent and barbaric, since that area is almost always in dispute. Tell Lord Carriedo to not extend an invitation to him, please._**

**_Your brother has finally given birth to a girl. She's named Maria. The court is suspicious because her skin is dark (darker than your brother's), and her features do not resemble Emperor Francis. That is not to say she looks like any other man. She is a carbon copy of your brother, from her olive green eyes to her thick curly hair. May be it's just another rumour the concubines have started. In any case, your brother remains blissfully oblivious of the vicious rumour, it seems. And Emperor Francis has declared his trust on your brother by officially naming her as Princess Maria Fernand Bonnefoy, the third in line for the throne. _**

**_The Cornflower had declared that he had nothing more to be passed down to me, and added 'but I'm still more awesome than you', which the Edelweiss shook his head to, and the two flowers started bickering. The Cornflower and the Edelweiss have…a strange relationship. 'Frenemy', I believe one of the maids said. Anyways, the Edelweiss has been teaching me music. He says I'm not bad with the piano or the violin _[2]_, but he likes my singing best. Oh, hush, I know what you're going to write in reply. I promise I will demonstrate to you once His Majesty grants my request for leave of absence. I might have to bring Prince Alfred along, though. I swear the Prince never leaves my side._**

**_His Majesty's been teaching me cooking, too. It's a hobby of his, he said, something he does when something plagues his mind. Who would have thought? Anyways, after a handful of sessions, the scones I baked were still horribly charred. I was about to give up and conclude that I possess no culinary skills whatsoever, when he retrieved one of the sad black lumps of flour I made and bit into it before I could prevent him. He mentioned that he knew my scones have 'various degrees of edibility'_[3]_, and he was willing to make a bet. True enough, the piece he was holding onto only had its outermost layers burnt, the rest was all right. We spent the next hour guessing which scone wasn't burnt to the core and peeling burnt flour. His Majesty could be…pretty weird._**

**_There's a place within the vicinity of the capital His Majesty likes taking the Princes, the Cornflower and me for picnics to. The place made me miss home, miss the time spent combing through the woods on adventures, your teasing me on my ability to swim (or lack thereof)._**

**_I miss you._**

**_Yours sincerely,_**

**_Arthur_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dear Gabi,<em>**

**_It's been a long time since I'd write you last _**longer still since I'd met you**_. There was the ruckus that was Princess Maria's teething. Just after that nightmare ended, Her Highness learnt how to crawl and walk, and invaded almost every nook and cranny of the Castle. Don't even start how much my head aches once she started babbling. I swear Prince Alfred and Princess Maria are competing on who makes the loudest noise. She doesn't behave like a child of winter at all. And your brother is so absentminded he loses his own daughter again and again. But that's neither here nor there._**

**_Enough baby talk; how's life back there? Have you had your debutante? God, I bet you'll be beautiful, in rich colours of earthy tones and golden bangles and earrings. Be careful of suspicious characters, please _**remember you're my betrothed [4]**_._**

**_I'd get James to tell Emperor Francis to invite you to the Castle, if the atmosphere isn't so intense right now. Empress Consort Iris had a miscarriage. Since then, Her Majesty has been bed-ridden. It seems that she has contracted a disease in her weakened state. Emperor Francis hasn't been leaving Her Majesty's bedside for ages. Matters of the State have been neglected to investigate whether the miscarriage had been maliciously planned for, and who is the mastermind behind it. Prince Alfred has taken to throwing tantrums and isolating himself, while Prince Matthew is speaking less and less. Everything is in a mess._**

**_I miss you so much it hurts._**

**_Love,_**

**_Arthur_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dear Gabi,<em>**

**_Princess Maria's second birthday two seasons past was a somber affair. Likewise with Prince Alfred's and Prince Matthew's seventh birthday._**

**_Her Majesty's condition has taken a turn for the worse. It seems that the disease she had contracted almost a year ago is quite severe. His Majesty only seems to be concerned about finding a cure to Her Majesty's ailment. Lord Zwingli, who had been promoted to Minister of Finance, has been working hard to keep the economy running, but with recent bouts of famine and floods, the citizens have become restless, expressing their displeasure through riots. The streets of the capital are no longer safe._**

**_There is absolutely no order in the Castle. Officers and servants act towards where the money is. It's taken me quite a while to find someone who's willing to deliver a letter to our hometown._**

"Princess Maria!" the door to the study was wrenched open abruptly, and Arthur jumped on his seat, blotting the parchment he was holding with ink. The young lord, now of the age of consent, cussed creatively and glared at the maid that interrupted him. "What's the matter?"

"Utmost apologies, Milord," The young woman curtsied. "Princess Maria has gone missing-"

"That's nothing new," Arthur grumbled.

"And so has Prince Alfred," the maid continued, not letting the interruption faze her.

Well, that's two out of three heirs missing. Arthur gave his ruined letter a forlorn gaze before he rose to his feet, sighing as he walked to the curtains to flip them out and checked for any presence of children. "Have you checked the gardens?"

"Another group has been placed in charge of that area," the maid answered promptly and elaborated, "Others are covering the library, the kitchen, and the flowers' chambers."

Arthur nodded. Good. The servants were following the SOPs. At least they still recognised matters which were important enough to prioritise over money-making activities. "Is anyone keeping an eye on Prince Matthew?"

The maid looked stunned. "Uh…no, I don't think so." At Arthur's irate glare, she quickly added, "We're pretty sure he's in the playroom. Prince Matthew has never gone missing before-"

"Of course," Arthur cut short the string of excuses. "But that's no reason to be complacent, with two out of three heirs missing. Have you thought of asking him where his brother has gone to?"

The maid blinked, and opened her mouth to talk, but Arthur sighed and moved toward the door before the words left her lips. "I'll talk to him. You'll continue your search."

"Understood," the maid curtsied again, and went to the opposite direction he was heading for.

_Let's get this over quickly,_ Arthur thought as he almost jogged to the playroom, his strides long and frequent, _before the courier I bribed left-_

Arthur blinked.

The playroom was empty.

Oh, _bugger_.

* * *

><p>"…It's not a good idea," Matthew told his twin an hour ago.<p>

"Come on, Matt!" Alfred retorted in exasperation.

"…But…" Matthew shuffled his feet.

"Whatever. Coming along, Maria?" Alfred held out his hand.

The two-year-old darling nodded, large olive eyes staring at her brother's face as small chocolate hands grabbed his larger hand, pink ribbons and dark curls bouncing as she walked by his side. The two proceeded down the corridor and disappeared from Matthew's sight.

The servants milled around him a total of ten minutes before one of them asked, "His Highness, where is your twin?"

Matthew had a feeling the servant thought he was Alfred. He shook his head in response.

In fifteen minutes, the servants had searched through 10% of the Castle for Alfred.

Matthew sat still for five minutes before the longing for his mother won his inner debate. He ran after his brother.

Most of the time, Matthew thought, he was born invisible. Very few people noticed his presence. His parents were one such people. The Cornflower and Arthur were two rare others. His twin was just too…present in comparison, loud, active and passionate, demanding everyone's attention on him. Matthew felt it was a curse more than a blessing in disguise.

But as Matthew sneaked into his mother's room _he'd missed her too much, hadn't seen her for nearly a year, Papa doesn't allow him to_, he thought, well, his 'super power' had some uses.

He couldn't dwell on his thoughts too long, though, because as soon as the huge mahogany doors with irises carved along their borders swung open, his senses were overwhelmed by the staleness of the air, the concentrated scent of linen that failed to cover the traces of sweat.

Matthew's eyes were drawn to the four-poster bed straight away, where his mother lied. She was a pale, wraith-like figure swathed by too many layers of blanket, blue veins and bloodshot eyes standing out against pale, gaunt cheeks, curly blonde hair fanning the pillow limply. Her thin fingers were rubbing circles on Alfred's back weakly, as the Prince sobbed and latched himself onto her arm. Princess Maria was nowhere to be seen.

"…Mathieu?" The woman in bed noticed the short figure by her ajar door (she would always, always, notice him), and beckoned him with a frail smile that seemed like it could disappear in a breath. "Come here."

Tiny face scrunched in fear and longing, Matthew launched himself to his mother's other side, small hands clinging to her skinny arm. "Mama, mama, mama," he repeated like a mantra, tears falling down the curve of his cheeks, "I miss you." He sobbed.

"Me too, _mon petit cocotte,_" she sighed, her voice a long-missed melody in his ears, and he burrowed his nose to the fabric of her pajama gown.

The tranquil lasted for a total of several seconds before a terrible bout of coughing raked through the Empress Consort's trembling body, her head and spine bent over the covers, hacking and heaving bile and coloured mucous. The maids standing at the side quickly provided towels and a basin for the ailing monarch.

"Mama," Matthew wrung his hands while his mother was tended to, "…are you all right?"

"You're going to be fine, right?" Alfred added immediately, desperation lining his normally energetic voice. "Right? We're going to go on a picnic together, right?"

The blonde woman looked down at the towels in her hands for a moment. When the Empress Consort looked up at her Princes, there was resolution in her cornflower-coloured irises as her hands reached out to hold both of her sons' hands. "Please take good care of your father," she whispered, "Never turn against each other, no matter what, and take good care of what you hold dear."

The boys did not understand the gravity of her advice, but the somberness of her tone etched the words in their minds.

Those words would be the last words the Princes would hear from their mother.

* * *

><p>The moment the Princes and the Princess returned to the playroom, Arthur took a deep breath and opened his mouth to deliver the lengthy lecture and severe scolding he'd prepared.<p>

Upon laying his eyes on the melancholic expressions on the twin's faces (especially Prince Alfred, whose lack of sunshine and bright grins was so jarring), the tutor sent a signal to Princess Maria's nanny to take the little girl away, then crouched and laid his hands on his charges' shoulders. "…Have you been to Her Majesty's chambers?" he asked quietly.

He was not surprised when the two latched onto him and nodded, small faces hidden in the folds of the tutor's robes. "Arthur…" Prince Matthew whimpered, "I'm scared."

_Me too, Princes, _Arthur merely pressed his hands on the small of the blonde Princes' backs and rubbed soothing circles against their spine. _Me too._

* * *

><p>A few days later, the bells on the highest tower of the Royal Cathedral clanged for hours on end, beckoning the Empire to mourn.<p>

_Gabriel,_

_All hell has broken loose._

_Arthur_

TBC

* * *

><p>REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS GOOD INCENTIVE FOR UNHAPPY AUTHOR TO CONTINUE WRITING :D<p>

Notes:

1. London is a financial centre. And the country's been managing her money's relatively well. So.

2. Violin, for Escala. And piano, from 'Full Stop', an installment of 'All He Ever Wanted' universe by the Young Turks, a historical AU whereby England is an Axis Power. It's really well-written. http:/ community . livejournal . com / all_he_ever / 3532 . html

3. Something from a CanadaxEngland fill from the kinkmeme which has become my :/ hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 9482 . html?thread=13167114#t13167114

4. Gabriel is Portugal. He was created by candesceres and has become quite a fanon character in the lj community. Gabriel's brother is Antonio, of course, the Iberian siblings Portugal and Spain :3

They're both begetters, Arthur and Gabriel. It's considered socially acceptable for begetters to wear accessories (hence, earrings and bangles) and clothes with feminine touches on the bodice, sleeves, etc. Just not outright cross-dressing. Arthur and Gabriel are sorta neighbours (nobles taking charge of neighbouring counties). Their parents promised them to each other when they were babies.


	7. Chapter 2,3: The Wheel of Life

To obsessive anon: Thank you very much for your review. Please give me another channel to answer your questions. Did Toris get Ivan's room? No. Toris moved into Arthur's quarter. It's my fault for never really describing this before, but the Harem takes up one wing of the Castle. The wing is divided to quarters, each quarter consisting of a common room and around 4-5 rooms and a shared bathroom (with big Jacuzzi) attached to the common room, sorta like a large condo unit taking up almost the whole floor by itself. Kiku, Yao and Mei live in one quarter. So do Ivan, Natalie and Katyusha (before she moved into Matthew's quarter outside the Harem). Arthur used to live by himself with Xin and Peter (he's still underage so it's okay for him to stay near his mom) until Dahlia and Toris came along. Common/lower-ranked concubines live in something like a dormitory of single-rooms, with communal bathroom. For the answer of your first question, please read at my LJ.

Here's your drama:

* * *

><p>Chapter Two: Romance of Two Generations<p>

Part 2.3 the Wheel of Life

Warning: Francis is a douchebag here. There is an allusion to oral sex. And Gil's pregnancy.

* * *

><p>"No!" Prince Alfred ran around his private chamber almost stark naked, only a layer of flimsy semi-transparent undergarment covering his lightly tanned skin, as his caretakers struggled to get him into the clothing they'd prepared. "I don't want to wear black anymore!" he screamed.<p>

Prince Matthew, who was standing at the doorway with the stuffed bear that was his last birthday present from his parents he'd always been carrying with him, ready for the Princes' daily tutoring in prim grey and black ensemble, fidgeted, while Arthur, similarly dressed next to the quiet blonde, sighed.

Prince Alfred's protest was entirely justifiable.

Three weeks after the 100-day period of mourning was over, everyone in Emperor Francis' court still wore black. There had been one day, just one day right after the 100-day period was over, where courtiers and nobles shed their mourning garments and appeared in coloured, albeit muted, robes, only to find the Emperor still decked in black and grey on the throne for his weekly assembly. Since then, the Castle dwellers had been watching their ruler every day, waiting for colours and lively chatters to return (if they ever would).

Back to the situation on hand, Prince Alfred started sneezing as he continued to triumph over his servants (who had attempted to catch him from different directions but, alas). Arthur surveyed the scene for a moment before he walked towards the Prince's closet and took out a blue waist coat. After ensuring that the shade wasn't too similar to the late Empress Consort's eyes, he offered a compromise.

Reluctantly, Prince Alfred was coaxed. "I don't like it," he pouted as his helpers dressed him. "Mommy wouldn't want us to be de..depre..depp-"

"Depressed, Your Highness?" Arthur offered quietly.

"That's the word," he huffed and held his foot up for the servant to slide the appendage to his shoe. He gave his black socks and breeches a withering glare. "I hate this."

Arthur merely held his hand out for the young Prince.

* * *

><p>A strong scent of alcohol hit his nose once Arthur returned from his duties.<p>

The young lord looked up and glared at the figure slumped on his sofa. Well, technically not his sofa, but the sofa in the chamber His Majesty had kindly provided him. "For goodness sake, James," Arthur sighed through gritted teeth, one hand loosening his lacy black cravat as his feet walked towards his crystal water jug. "You should at least open the window," he grumbled as he poured the water into a glass, containers clinking against one another.

"…Belt up," the redhead groaned as he sat straighter, the one layer of pajama robe covering his frame slipping down the slope of his shoulder, revealing various red and blue marks of pleasure.

As Arthur approached his brother, he could detect musky smell of sweat and sex underlining the overwhelming scent of alcohol. "Give me that," the glass of water was brashly snatched from the younger begetter's hands.

Arthur sighed and merely placed himself on the other end of the couch, hands busying themselves with taking off his shoes and socks, while James emptied the glass of water and reached out for his flask of whisky again.

The two sat in silence enduringly, the tension in the room no different from anywhere else within the walls of the castle. Arthur bid his time patiently, waiting as the Thistle emptied more and more flasks of whisky and rum.

"…The Cornflower is pregnant."

Arthur was right. James would talk, eventually, and his role was to listen, and listen well. "Not only the Cornflower. There's also this…this common concubine from the East who got pregnant. He's going to be promoted soon," the elder ranted. "Emperor Francis wears black for his late wife, but fucks anyone with two legs. Such a hi-hypocrite." The last of his words were choked. Without looking at James, Arthur knew for a fact that tears must be coursing down his cheeks.

Wordlessly, Arthur scooted closer, opened his arms and enveloped his brother's larger body in an embrace the two would never have done if they were sober. "What do you want, James?" he murmured softly, the words barely louder than a breath. "How can I help you?"

"…I…I could," he started hesitantly, the tension in his spine disintegrating as Arthur rubbed soothing circles on his skin. The young begetter supposed he wouldn't have learned how to console others if he hadn't been assigned as a tutor-cum-caretaker. "I could probably get some medicines that enhance my fertility. I can give him a child, too."

The Thistle was half a head taller and almost twice broader than the Emperor, but even as his sibling Arthur agreed that there was a rugged, naïve sort of beauty in him that steal other's breaths away. He would be gorgeous with a child, Arthur thought, but…would that solve anything? "I'm sure you can do that," he merely murmured against his better judgment.

A companionable silence fell upon them once more, with Arthur hoping that he could convey to his brother that he was there for him.

"…I just," James muttered as his breath evened out, bright green eyes drooping, "I just wish he would look at me…and keep his eyes on me…" He dozed to a peaceful slumber soon after.

Arthur stayed with him till morning.

* * *

><p>"Happy Birthday, Your Highness!"<p>

Arthur and Princess Maria's caretakers and nursemaids congratulated the monarch with songs, colourful ribbons and paper decors adorning her private chamber, her cake almost rivaling her in size. The little darling girl blew the three candles on the cake enthusiastically, leaning so far ahead she nearly toppled into the mix of flour, sugar and chocolate.

For once, the Carnation acted fast and scooped his daughter away from the cake, strong tanned arms pressed against the frills of her dress around her middle. "_Querida_," he smiled against her curls, "Happy Birthday." He presented the princess with his neatly wrapped gift.

"Happy Birthday, Maria!" Alfred shouted loudly, cheerful and energetic for once (instead of mopey and pouty) and the twin handed her a gift. "I was the one who made the bigger present!" The blue-eyed blonde puffed out his chest.

"Thank you, Your Highness," the Carnation smiled at his daughter's half-brothers as Princess Maria tore into the package and…blinked at the large canvas splashed with creatively painted colours and shapes. "Wow, Prince Alfred, this is lively." Alfred grinned at the compliment. Beneath the canvas was a small handkerchief with flowers embroidered to its corner. "And I'm assuming this is from you, Prince Matthew?"

The quiet blonde nodded meekly. "I-I've been learning from Arthur," he looked up at his tutor and smiled.

Arthur beamed at his diligent student and petted his hair briefly before presenting his gift to the monarch. "I wish you a blessed year ahead, Your Highness."

His gift was an olive green dress he'd sewn himself, complete with a set of well-crafted bracelet and necklace made of gold, jade and rubies. The Carnation laid them out and blinked in awe. "You're always very good with your hands, aren't you, Arthur?"

The tutor received the compliment with pride. "Thank you, Milord."

The birthday celebration was a private affair, with a handful of trustworthy flowers (the Edelweiss – who Arthur heard was the Carnation's betrothed [1] before the two ended up in the harem – was playing piano in the background as the monarchs chattered and ate their fill, with the Cornflower, who had a tiny bump on his tummy, making funny faces to the Princess) and caretakers involved. Nobody dared to suggest any larger form of festivities with such thick clouds of misery shrouding the Castle. The Carnation himself, who had been one of His Emperor's best friends before he was a wife, shook his head when the leader of his clan's faction had hinted an empire-wide celebration to him, and crafted his invitations by hand.

Arthur had half the mind to not attend the party in support of his brother, but his role and obligations as the tutor of the Princess and the Princes dictated his attendance. In the end, James told him to go, though he himself would not come.

The cozy group of less than twenty conversed and laughed and tried very hard to enjoy their time, but none of them, even the young, young Princess, could ignore the jarring lack of presence of the monarch's paternal figure.

* * *

><p>"No," Vash Zwingli glared at Marquis Dubois. "Absolutely not."<p>

The balding middle-aged man fumed. "Do you know who my cousin had married? She's-"

"Princess Claire Bonnefoy Dubois [2], His Majesty's late half-sister, yes, I know," the officer of the state sighed in pain, his fingers twitching to reach for the sword attached to his belt.

The aristocrat looked triumphant. "Then-"

"The answer is still no," Vash reached for his forehead and rubbed the vein that was popping on his temple.

Arthur watched the interaction from the sideline, a bunch of uncoordinated receipts and claim vouchers on his right, his quill poised over the pages of the Castle's ledgers. He pondered whether he should interrupt the quarrel before any heads roll.

"How can I get you to let it go?" The Marquis groaned. "You're so stubborn!"

"You're the one who is stubborn," Vash walked away from the noble, back to his desks where other budgets awaited his approval. "Smuggling children to the North and the East illegally to be sold as slaves and stealing from the treasury are serious crimes. My decision to put you on trial is just."

"I didn't smuggle! And the over-invoicing was a negligence!" the Marquis argued. "His Majesty has agreed to ratify the breaches!"

Vash raised his eyebrow. "At the state he's in? I don't believe you. Do you have an official document with his stamp and signature?"

Arthur hid behind his book when the Marquis turned purple on his face. Lord Zwingli had always been infamous for being blatant.

A moment of silence passed before the Marquis finally moved to the Minister's table and placed a big, fat pouch of coins. He opened it and let the gold slide across the table. "You can trade the incriminating evidence with this," the whisper was barely louder than a breath, yet it bounced off the walls of the small room. The noble shot Arthur a glare, and the young begetter stood straight on his seat, gulping at the malice. "You better forget everything that was said here, boy," he hissed.

The sound of a large amount of coins colliding against the floor and rolling away to every corner brought the Marquis' attention back to Lord Zwingli, who had calmly swept the pouch away from his desk. "Keep your filthy money away from me," he spoke disdainfully, his eyes narrowed in disgust.

The Marquis stood still as a statue, his face purpling in anger once more, before he spat. "You fool! No one else cares. Our fucking ruler doesn't care! Why should you!"

"Precisely since no one else cares for this Empire," Lord Zwingli's retort was cool as a cucumber. "So should I."

* * *

><p>Arthur thought about the incident he'd accidentally witness, and his boss' reaction, for a long, long time before he came to a decision.<p>

"I don't want to!" Prince Alfred yelled when the tutor shared his idea. "Daddy's not visited us for months! He doesn't want us anymore!" He sulked and kicked the leg of his desk. "He doesn't love us anymore!"

A sad but true fact.

"Sometimes we have to be the first to make the move," Arthur spoke patiently, his hands caressing the blue-eyed monarch's hair and back. He'd notice, in his first year of stay, that both the Princes were extremely tactile. This seemed to have been made worse by the five months of lack of parental love. Arthur utilized this to sway the hardheaded Prince's mind. "Your father is confused right now. His seeing you may get him out of this confusion."

Prince Alfred crossed his arms and stuck his bottom lip out, but he appeared to be thinking.

Arthur turned to his twin. "Prince Matthew?" he pleaded.

The shy Prince had a surprisingly determined look on his dark blue eyes when he nodded.

After checking that His Majesty had no appointments today (that part was easy. His Majesty hadn't had any appointment of importance for months), together, the trio prepared something for the Emperor – drawings, poetry to read, tea and snacks from the kitchen – before heading to his chambers. Arthur greeted the two soldiers guarding the large mahogany door before reaching for the knob and navigated through the large living room. "Your Majesty? Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew are here to see you!" he'd announced as he meandered to the study, where he'd heard some shuffling from.

What he saw there made his blood freeze.

The Emperor was lying in his chair with his robes and his legs wide open, a pale-skinned, slender, naked begetter nestled between his knees, rutting his genitals against the Emperor's calf. The all-too-familiar scent of alcohol hit Arthur's nose and he instinctively reached out to cover the Princes' eyes.

"Alfred, Mathieu," Emperor Francis groaned as his looked at his sons, his eyes unfocused and his pupils dilated. The black-haired man whose head was bobbing on the Emperor's lap stilled and his bare legs tensed, but His Majesty placed his hands on the concubine's head to keep him there. "Papa's a bit busy," he groaned when the concubine continued ministering his service.

Before Arthur could stop it, Prince Matthew had fled from his arm, sobs wracking his small body. Prince Alfred followed soon after, but not before screaming, "I HATE YOU!"

Arthur knew that he had to chase the Princes, that he was merely a youngling from a Count's family who had sizable land in the countryside, that speaking up could get him killed, but he was beyond angry at this point in time.

"Do you have any sense of decency!" he screamed at his ruler. "Drunk and screwing others in broad daylight! I…I understand that you're grieving, b-but it's been months! Leaving matters of state in a mess-" By the end of his tirade, he'd fallen to his knees, crying for the future of his Empire without a care to his audience. "And the Princes…they have been missing you…" He hiccoughed.

Arthur looked up when footsteps approached him. His Majesty pulled the young lord up and bent over him, pressing his lips against the begetter's lips so fast Arthur had no time to pull away. "So passionate," the monarch murmured, "so pretty."

Arthur was shell shocked. To be honest, since he'd entered the court three years ago, the thought of entering Emperor Francis' harem had crossed his mind several times. True, he'd been betrothed to Gabriel, but it was decided when he was merely a baby. He'd come to love his childhood friend dearly, but it wasn't as if he could refuse the Emperor if His Majesty decided he wanted him in the harem, right? For two years, they had flirted and exchanged lingering touches, Arthur had come to admire his ruler (a crush perhaps?), but there was nothing further. Absolutely nothing.

And with the events that had transpired, all he'd felt for him now was disgust.

SLAP!

Three pairs of eyes widened at the course of action Arthur had taken, but the young lord ploughed on. "What are you doing?" He hissed. "Do you care about your Empire at all?"

Arthur's heaving breaths were loud in the quiet that followed.

Seconds ticked away before the Emperor finally moved. His shoulders shook as he leaned back, and laughed. Laughed so heartily his abdominal muscles quivered with the strain.

Arthur stared in shock.

"You understand, you said?" Emperor Francis snorted as he rose to his feet languidly and approached him again. Arthur flinched when his chin was grabbed roughly and held in a tight grip. "Want to do something for this doomed Empire, huh? Young Kirkland?" The ruler snarled and bared his teeth. "Not so young anymore, eh?" He leered as his eyes took in Arthur's body. He felt like those eyes were violating him. "Fourteen years old [3]?"

Arthur felt himself giving a reflexive nod.

"Very well." The manic grin on the Emperor's face made Arthur's stomach churn in fear. "I shall make you useful for the Empire."

* * *

><p><em>Gabriel,<em>

_I…I didn't mean for this to happen at all. It took me by surprise. I…_

_I'm sorry._

_Wishing for your happiness, always,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

_Empress Consort Rose of Emperor Francis_

TBC

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1. Also known as Hapsburg-Spain. AustriaxSpain became an OTP of mine after reading 'Hither Lies Our Fated Way': http:/ etcetera-desu . livejournal . com / 2773 . html

2. Claire: Monaco

3. Since the setting is medieval, age of consent could be as low as nine years old until 19th century, where age of consent 'improved' to 13 – 16. http:/ en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Age_of_consent


	8. Chapter 2,4: Beautiful, Dirty Rich

A/N: I've been wondering 'why am I receiving less reviews now compared to 2-3 years ago? Is the fandom size smaller (vs. Harry Potter and KKM)? Have my writing skills deteriorated?'

OF COURSE THE ANSWER LIES ON SMARTPHONE D: D:

I've never been a fan of smartphones. The only thing I like about my blackberry Gemini (nearly free coz of the 2-year subscription contract, plus 12-month installment with 0% credit) is the qwerty. Enables me to answer sms faster. I don't use the BBM or the internet functions at all. And Siri - or any kind of AI on that matter - makes me scared coz I think those scenarios in sci-fi movies may happen sooner than we thought.

This makes me painfully aware that I am part of Gen Y, not Gen Z. That I was born in the 80s. That I had lived a life without mobile phones. And I actually missed those times. No being glued to the screen of your PC. People actually spending quality time together face-to-face. Now overpopulation issues are giving me headaches. I am facing a real threat of unemployment once I graduate next year. Skills get obsolete very fast. Family finances dwindling. I FEEL EMO.

But anyways, thank you so much for the reviews for the previous chapters . You've made me really happy despite the fact that I probably screwed my first paper. Next paper tomorrow! Japanese Level 2.

Replies to unlogged-in reviewers who posed questions:

Absentwriter: Yay for SpainxAustria! Austria is another guy I like to pair with many people: Prussia, Germany, Switzerland, Hungary, France and Spain. He's got an adorable persona.

Hanabi: Yeah, it's a challenge. Arthur's accusation and idealism make Francis want to crush that pretty little youngling, to let him know that ruling a court is a feat and Arthur's derision is unjustified. Just because one has the position doesn't mean s/he has the power. If nobody actually obeys him/her, then s/he is just as good as a puppet Emperor/Empress. By the way, I am Indonesian. I have studied in Singapore for seven years, and I've never been particularly patriotic, but I find that comment amusing. No offense taken, of course.

* * *

><p>Part 2.4: Beautiful, Dirty Rich<p>

"I'd like a black tie," Arthur told his new…lady-in-waiting.

The unexpressive young woman nodded and untied the white stripe of satin off his neck before turning to the tray of cravats, ribbons and ties laid out on his vanity.

Arthur stared at the…assortment of silk, velvet and laces that covered every inch of his body, from the white frilly shirt that covered his torso, his tight-fitting ivory waist coat, the similarly coloured shorts, his white socks and knee-length laced boots, the robe that encased his body like a second skin and flared under his waist and elbows, a lacy bustier-like adornment pasted to his behind, Bonnefoy's Dynasty's lilies embroidered on the hems and embossed on gold buttons [1]…he felt very much like an ornament, a doll shelved in a madhouse.

"Utmost apologies, Your Majesty," the lady-in-waiting returned with a black ribbon, "We don't have black ties."

Arthur gave her a dismissive gesture and she looped the fabric around his neck, fastening the bow with small pins of white roses. Another servant wrestled against his hair with a brush and a gel, taming his coarse blonde locks and pinning a lacy veil to his head. Arthur snorted inwardly.

All his life, he'd never thought he'd be a bride out of spite. Oh, he'd not deluded. He'd never thought he'd marry for love (though he'd come to love Gabriel dearly). No, he'd thought he'd marry for power, politics, money, whatever – anything but this…this sick game His Majesty'd put him in.

Nevertheless, when the Thistle – stony-faced, tense Thistle – knocked his door, Arthur fingered the bruise on his face, barely visible through the thick make-up his lady-in-waiting had painted his face with, and rose to his feet with dignity.

* * *

><p>"<em>Yo-you SLUT!"<em>

_The punch that had landed on his cheek was forceful enough to send him flying across the room. He landed on his side and winced, bitter tang of iron and copper filling his mouth from his cut lips. "James…" He pushed himself by his elbows and pleaded at the begetter looming above him. "I seriously didn't mean for this to happen-"_

"_Shut up, whore!" The larger flower held his younger sibling by his hair, strong fingers gripping the locks with the intention of pulling them off. Arthur whimpered in pain. "What did you do to seduce His Majesty, huh? Did you open your legs and let him fuck you?" he spat._

'_More like he forced them open,' Arthur thought fleetingly, before James delivered a kick to his stomach. "Answer me, bitch!" he roared in anger and continued his assault._

"_J-james," Arthur choked, his hands reached for his brother's leg and hanging on to the limb even as the older flower flailed to throw him off. "Do you seriously think I would have done that to you? Don't you trust me at all?" he gazed at his brother's eyes, green meeting green, pouring all of his sincerity and affection for him (which was surprisingly a lot more than what he'd let on daily)._

_James tore his gaze away and slumped to the floor in front of him, murmuring brokenly, "I don't know who I can trust."_

_Arthur's heart shattered into pieces._

* * *

><p>Count Albion Kirkland received the hand of his youngest son from his eldest son, admired the fit of his wedding suit on his slender body and how much of his beautiful, beautiful Brittany was passed down to his youngest (and not to his only daughter, Erin, God Bless her) and blinked at the grave expression on both parties. "What have you done, Arthur?" he whispered as the two took their places at the end of the aisle in the Royal Cathedral. There was only curiosity in his tone, neither disdain nor elation.<p>

And for that, Arthur was eternally grateful.

"A mockery," he breathed in reply.

Count Kirkland's massive brows creased in puzzlement.

Albion would be lying if he said he didn't send his youngest along with his eldest to the Castle with the hopes that one of them would have His Majesty's favour and conceive this Empire's future Prince or Princess, who, hopefully would at least be a Duke or Marquis (let it not be said the Kirkland's were optimists). Oh, he'd promised his youngling to Margrave Carriedo, sure, but it wasn't like that greedy General stopped sourcing for his gorgeous son's future spouse the moment the betrothal was set. Arthur and Gabriel grew up together, sure, but everything was still fair game.

Melodies started playing from the Cathedral's organ and the Count was startled out of his musings when the audience rose to their feet simultaneously, as though theirs was an orchestra of coordinated movement.

The stares directed toward the small figure of the young Empress Consort to-be as he walked down the aisle were intensely negative – murderous, even – and Count Kirkland pulled his youngest closer to his side instinctively, his arm holding his waist protectively. He was kept distracted until they reached the altar, where the Emperor waited, in a glory of ivory and violet, the coat of arms of his House.

Count Kirkland's lips straightened to a grim line after he took one look at his ruler's eyes. Before the handover, Count Kirkland squeezed the gloved hand inside his larger one. "Take care of yourself," he whispered, steel green eyes searching his son's face determinedly. "Please be safe."

Arthur held his father's gaze for a while, his intuition telling him to savour the moment. "Thank you, father."

The young lord was let go of, and he kneeled in front of his ruler. The Emperor's staff was held above his shoulder as both of them recited their vows – to the Empire, to God, to their duties, to each other. Finally, the Emperor bent down to bestow his crown, a tiara of gold, pearls and fourteen petals of rose, finely crafted from rubies and diamonds, and pulled him to his feet.

The kiss that sealed his fate tasted like rotting flesh and ashes.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations, Your Majesty," an aristocrat who'd never bothered to talk to him before offered yet more superficial pleasantries.<p>

Arthur motioned for his lady-in-waiting to receive the gift and carry them away to the pile already growing on the large table at the side. "Thank you very much, Sir," he offered a plastic smile back. "I really appreciate your attendance in this reception ceremony."

"I'm happy to be graced with the presence of a beautiful begetter such as yourself," The man bowed and offered his arm. "May I have a dance?"

Arthur let the noble lead him for his umpteenth dance that night, chattering about absolute rubbish as the orchestra produced long-missed tunes of romance and merriment.

Emperor Francis was back on his throne when Arthur was done. "Interesting choice of bow," he welcomed his Empress Consort with an eerie smile when young lord returned to the platform, and rose to his feet. He cleared his throat, and the orchestra stopped.

"Thank you for having come to the ceremony today," the Emperor announced when his audience shifted their attention to him. "I'm sure you agree that it's been a long day. Rose and I would be retreating for the night. Do enjoy the festivities in my absence." His Majesty wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist and the flower suppressed the itch to yank it away.

Half an hour later, still shivering in disgust and trapped in the huge bedroom of his new chamber with only the Emperor in company, Arthur felt infinitesimally relieved to be out of his artificial butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth smile and the Godforsaken wedding suit (though his virginal looking pajama wasn't much of an improvement. What a joke).

He tensed when the Emperor lay down on the four-poster bed. "C'mere," he beckoned idly.

Arthur merely graced him with a stony glare. If looks could kill, the monarch would have been six feet under.

The ruler sighed. "Come here," he ordered and patted the space next to him. "I won't do anything to you."

After five seconds, it looked like the Emperor would, indeed, not force him to anything and Arthur approached the bed warily before lying on the mattress. He'd almost jumped an inch when the ruler rolled around to face him.

"…Who'd hurt you?" The Emperor's eyes flickered at the bruise that was exposed now that Arthur's face had been washed clean of make-up.

Arthur merely looked away. "It's none of your business, Your Majesty," he retorted coldly.

"Suit yourself," the ruler muttered and rolled around again. Before long, the rhythm of his breath evened out.

Arthur didn't sleep a wink.

* * *

><p>"You need to hold another ball," the Edelweiss stated.<p>

Arthur's only response was, "What?"

One week had passed since that mockery of a wedding, five days since Arthur painfully said goodbye to his father (the man was a soldier at heart, preferring the borders to patrol instead of the politics in court. He'd been promoted following Arthur's marriage; Arthur supposed that was one good thing to be thankful about) and Arthur was yet to accustom himself to his new role. Everyone was watching him – to curry for his favour, to harm him, to mock him – never leaving him alone. And there were still tons of nobles who refused to acknowledge his status (and frankly, Arthur could care less).

The worst part of this change was his significantly reduced interaction with the Princes.

And the fact that James never met his eyes anymore.

The Edelweiss, prim, well-mannered Edelweiss, sighed and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "To get others to recognize your status, you have to hold another ball," he repeated patiently.

Arthur frowned at his guest. The other flower didn't visit him for tea and music, it seemed. "There's no occasion to hold one."

"Then create one," Edelweiss responded dismissively, his slender hand reaching for a cup of tea. "Harvest season's approaching. You have to prove that you're capable of running functions. Rally for support from the aristocrats. I'd suggest you start with the Margraves. They are mostly situated in border areas, they're less involved in politics in the capital. They'll accept anyone who benefits them."

Arthur stared at his 'advisor' warily, his question loud in the silence.

"I'm sorry," the complete non-sequitur threw Arthur off. "I'm sorry that you have to shoulder this position." There was pity in the gaze the Edelweiss returned.

"…You don't want this position?" Arthur voiced hesitantly.

"Never," The Edelweiss snorted. "I've known Francis since we were toddlers. Frankly, I'm happy to be where I am right now. Any closer to him, I would have killed him. His habits are atrocious." The violet-eyed infante of the late Archduke Edelstein shook his head. "I know him well enough to deduce you were roped into this."

Arthur couldn't describe how relieved he was that his music tutor of three years trusted him. "Lord Edelweiss-" his voice trembled.

"Call me Roderich, Arthur," the musician finally offered his former student a smile.

* * *

><p>So began the preparations for the 'pre-Thanksgiving' ball. In the afternoon, the congregation would pray for bountiful harvest in the Cathedral, before proceeding for the ball.<p>

Arthur'd never thought that a 4-hour event could have so much to prepare for: the catering, the décor, the orchestra, the cutleries, the invitations…he had to admit the last one was the most taxing. As a newbie, he couldn't exactly delegate the scribing; his 'sincerity', however nonexistent, will surely be tested. Then, of course, there was that hell of seating arrangement…

One late afternoon, Arthur was hunched over his desk (his old one. He absolutely loathed the white elephant of his new desk) when the door to his new study was knocked. Arthur looked up blearily and murmured, "You can enter."

"Your Majesty," the nanny barely managed to greet him when a whirlwind ran past her and charged at Arthur with the force of a buffalo, nearly causing the two of them (and his chair) to topple sideways.

"Arthur!" Prince Alfred cried as he held on to his waist tightly, "I miss you so much! Why don't you see us every day anymore?" He buried his face against the velvet of his waistcoat.

"Pri-" Arthur caught himself before he remembered the change to his status. He sighed as he stood and petted the young boy's hair like he used to. "I miss you too."

The former tutor looked up to see Prince Matthew standing still by his nanny, one hand still clutching his precious bear. His expression looked conflicted when he gazed at Arthur. "G-good afternoon, m-mother," he managed to stutter out as he bowed, his hands trembling.

The small fingers buried in the crease of Arthur's breeches clenched.

"…Matthew," Arthur approached the other boy and put a hand on his shoulder like he used to. "Just call me Arthur, like you used to. I'm…not here to…replace your mother."

Matthew looked up tearily and pressed his face on Arthur's stomach, too. "Arthur, I…I miss you too…"

The peace lasted for a total of less than one minute before it was broken by a low scratchy voice. "A pre-Thanksgiving ball, huh."

The three blondes turned to the doorway to see the Emperor lounging on the couch next to the low table in the study, dressed sloppily in his pajama gown, one leg crossed over his knee. He was reading one of the invitations Arthur'd written.

Almost immediately, Matthew scooted closer to Arthur, hiding himself behind his former tutor, while Alfred stepped in-between his father and Arthur and glared at the ruler, tiny fists clenched in a poise to fight.

Arthur squeezed the twin's shoulders. "Alfred, Matthew, do greet your father."

"P-papa," Matthew stuttered. Alfred refused to say anything, pouty lips pressed together to a thin line.

A look of _something_ flashed across the Emperor's eyes before he put the invitation back to the pile. "Good to know you're not totally useless," he shrugged nonchalantly, and Alfred's glare turned this side of murderous – Arthur had to restrain the young Prince – before the Emperor took off one of the rings and tossed it across the study. Arthur scrambled to catch it and his jaw dropped in surprise when he saw that the ring in his palm bore the Emperor's signet.

"For the invitations," the ruler stated unemotionally and turned to leave.

He was out of the door before Arthur could thank him.

* * *

><p>Arthur could not breathe.<p>

Getting the Empire's aristocrats to attend the (well-organised, with the perfect food, the perfect décor and the perfect arrangement) pre-Thanksgiving Ball was one thing. Getting them to accept Arthur still seemed a destination too far away in the future. Why, three-quarters of his guests did not even smile at him when he greeted them.

It was a battlefield. His instincts had been screaming at him to flee the moment he stepped into it.

Arthur spent half an hour in brittle, awkward pleasantries, one eye kept at the entrance, waiting, waiting for the arrival of Lord Edelweiss or – God forbids, Emperor Francis – but alas, his irresponsible _husband _was absent. The blue-eyed blonde seemed content to let his ministers make all the decisions and expose his new wife to the slew of predators that occupied the court and left him alone in the wilderness to entertain the nobles.

_Bastard._

"Brat!" the scratchy, familiar voice of the Cornflower boomed as he opened the majestic mahogany double door to the ballroom with an overdramatic flourish, decked from head to toe in his House's colours, the folds of his tunic unable to conceal the slight bump on his lower abdomen completely. Crimson eyes gleamed rakishly as he strode towards Arthur with a sense of purpose, the teeth that gleamed through his smirk trapping the fabric of his gloves and pulling them off his pale hands.

The silk made no noise as it was thrown to Arthur's feet, but everyone's eyes were upon them.

"Brat," the Cornflower repeated as he drew his sword from the scabbard attached to his waist and pointed the blade at him. "I challenge you to a duel. If you want my recognition, you should fight for it."

Arthur's mouth was dry.

The crowd buzzed and stared, their glee and anticipation apparent in amused gazes, and Arthur had no choice but to receive the sword which was offered to him by his aide and took off his gloves. "…very well, Lord Cornflower," he replied, inwardly thanking the Gods that he dismissed the four-inch heel his lady-in-waiting had proposed for him and favoured the more sensible-looking boots.

A feral grin crossed the Cornflower's face. And he charged.

TBC

* * *

><p>You know the 6-letter word which is going to make this writer happy! :D It starts with 'R'<p>

Note:

1. Imagine Arthur wearing an ensemble not unlike Ciel Phantomhive's clothes [from Kuroshitsuji] manga-style.


	9. Chapter 2,5: Fallen

A/N: By the way, a US/fem! Allies is available in kink-meme: http:/ hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / 19013 . html?thread=71441221#t71441221. It is SO well-written.

Part 2.5: Fallen

Arthur had trained under the Cornflower's guidance for at least two years, after which the flower declared that he had nothing more to impart to his disciple.

From the looks of it, the Cornflower didn't lie.

The duel was challenging. The two of them knew each other's moves too well for any to wedge in any advantage through element of surprise. Arthur circled his former tutor warily, eyeing the bump on his stomach as he dodged blows upon blows.

"Brat!" Arthur narrowly avoided a thrust aimed at his shoulder, "Just because you've been given the title of a flower, and you've won Francis' favour, you think you own the court? Don't be so cocky!" Crimson eyes bore into his skull. "I swear I'll make you learn your place!"

The Cornflower bent forward to an all too familiar stance, his right arm level against his cheek and the length of his left hand accompanying his blade, two fingers pressed on the flat of the pointy edge of his sword. Arthur gulped nervously and brought the length of his sword across his torso in a protective gesture. He'd seen this technique many times and he'd never managed to block it.

Green eyes met red, and Arthur took a deep breath.

The Cornflower winked. And lurched forward.

Arthur blinked in puzzlement and nearly missed the slightly inaccurate angle of the tilt of the Cornflower's torso, the sheer _deliberateness_ of the mistake (to those who knew him well enough, which was to say, less than a handful of the nobles in the huge ballroom). He took half a step to the right, letting the former general sail past him, hit his hand with the blunt edge of the hilt of his sword and knocked the Cornflower down through an elbow to his back.

The Cornflower's sword fell to the floor with a loud clanging noise, and skittered to the crowd, who jerked away in surprise.

Arthur stared at the fallen weapon numbly, disbelieving that the tensest ten minutes of his life (yet) was over, before he snapped into awareness at the groan that escaped the Cornflower's lips as he rubbed his spine from his position on the floor. Arthur scrambled to approach his former tutor, his sword cast aside thoughtlessly, before crouching down next to him and offering his hand. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry!"

"Runt," the former warmonger stared at him for a moment, his crimson gaze imploring, before he smirked and accepted the hand which had been offered to him, the line of his lips peaceful and acquiescent. He swept back the white strands of hair that were plastered to his forehead, the aquamarine and diamonds of the cornflower attached to his hair gleaming under the lights of the chandelier in the ballroom, before he grinned. "You're surprisingly talented, aren't ya?" The statement was followed by a thorough glomping."Welcome to the court!"

The cloak of silence persisted. Not even a breathy whisper could be heard, until two sets of footsteps echoed loudly in the spacious ballroom. Arthur nearly jumped in shock when gloved hands were placed casually on his shoulder and on his back. He looked up to find the Edelweiss and the Carnation flanking his sides, decked in ivory, maroon, lavender and gold, regal colours of their Houses. "It's my greatest loss," Lord Carriedo sighed heartily. Arthur eyed him warily. Since entering the court, he'd had the feeling Lord Carriedo disliked him. "The Rose has been taking care of my little _querida_ so well. There's no one else I trust with this position." The brunette squeezed the blonde's shoulder and smiled.

When Arthur blinked at the older flower in surprise, the Edelweiss and the Cornflower obtained a flute of champagne each and raised them to the air. "To Empress Consort Rose," the musician's tenor was clear as a bell, unhesitant and authoritative. The Carnation and the Cornflower followed suit, Francis' three Honoured Consorts united in supporting the new Empress Consort, the person in-charge of the whole harem [1]. Few other things would be more powerful in establishing Arthur's credibility than this [2].

The crowd stared at each other, waiting, searching for cues. Arthur waited with bated breath, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. Near the centre of the room, Minister Zwingli sighed before he raised his flute. "To Empress Consort Rose," he stated, loudly. The Margraves and Counts who were acquaintances of Arthur's father raised theirs next, and the movement spread to the corners of the room in a ripple. "To Empress Consort Rose," they chorused and toasted. For him.

His crowning glory.

The relief that spread to his toes and the pads of his fingers was enormous. The tension in his spine snapped like a bowstring. Arthur fought the urge to flop to his knees and presented his audience a wide smile. "Thank you," he raised his flute and nodded at the Edelweiss, the Cornflower and the Carnation, grateful for their staunch support. "Thank you very much."

At the corner of the room, a blonde figure slinked out of the room, a thin smile etched over his gaunt face.

* * *

><p>"How did it go?"<p>

Arthur nearly jumped (the third time that evening, goodness) when he entered his chamber to find the lump beneath the blankets on his bed speaking to him. The shadows dancing beneath the candle's dying light revealed the sickly sallow shades of the Emperor's face as he slowly turned to face his wife.

Arthur waved a hand to dismiss his lady-in-waiting, who promptly left the room. He approached the bed carefully, unbuttoning his robes and shirt as he padded his way across. "It went well," he reported, an eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"Hmm," the Emperor shrugged and turned away from him. "That's good," his voice was muffled by the cushions.

Arthur mulled over Emperor Francis' strange concern as he changed into his pajamas. _He told them to support me,_ the thought suddenly struck Arthur. The Edelweiss might not have needed persuasion to do that, but the Carnation would. The Carnation had been the flower with the second highest standing in the harem (the only flower who'd birthed an heir other than the late Empress Consort), he'd be the most compelling figure whose decisions others would follow. Not to mention that the Cornflower was expecting (a likely candidate of power in the near future).

Arthur turned and stared at the lump of shape at the other side of the bed for a long time. Gingerly, he raised his hand and placed it on top of the blanket. "You do care, don't you?" he whispered softly.

Even breathing was his only answer.

* * *

><p>Arthur had five months. Barely less than half a year of peace and support and – <em>he was the centre of attention in the court, Prince Matthew and Prince Alfred visited twice a week, they went to the lake with the Emperor once and there was a content smile on his face, he'd shaven and showed up in luncheons and dinners, charming and graceful as they celebrated Princess Maria's birthday, and Arthur was falling, falling in love with his husband, exchanging fond looks across the Ballroom and dining table<em>– happiness. Pure, concentrated happiness.

The other shoe dropped. Too soon.

* * *

><p>"Your Majesty."<p>

Arthur laid his eyes on his brother, his blood relative who had forsaken his trust on him, and nodded as they stumbled across each other's path in the corridor. "Lord Thistle," he greeted. The hurt lingered, but Arthur had noticed that the shadows were disappearing from his brother's face and he was glad, for him. "How have you been?"

Something flickered across the green irises that nearly mirrored his before James remarked, indifferently. "I've been fine, thank you Your Majesty."

Arthur hated the distance that had been created between them. Baby steps, he thought to himself, he needed to take baby steps.

While Arthur debated with himself whether it was too soon to invite his brother for something, anything, to attempt to rebuild the bridge which had been burnt, James interrupted his thoughts. "Your Majesty," there was a smile on the older begetter's face. "Would you be free for a luncheon tomorrow?"

Arthur was ecstatic. "Gladly," he replied almost straight away. He'd make time for his brother; others could wait.

"I'm honoured," James gave him a quick bow, "See you at the alcove next to the library in the West Wing tomorrow at noon, Your Majesty."

"See you," Arthur returned with a genuine smile before they proceeded to their original destinations.

Later that night, the young Empress Consort fretted over his hopes for reconciliation as he tossed and turned in his bed. He paid no mind to the Emperor's lack of presence in the room (although Francis had spent a lot of time with Arthur lately, he'd spent some nights with other flowers in the harem, too). Arthur nearly woke up too late and fretted again over whether he should wear what he used to wear before he was Francis' wife (would James see it as an insult? But overdressing would exert his status and Arthur didn't want that).

Subsequently, Arthur reached the alcove nearly half an hour late. "I'm sorry," the Empress Consort nearly huffed and puffed as he stepped into the cozy little cranny where he used to spent hours playing chess against his brother. The round wooden table had been transformed to a mini dining table.

"It's all right," James reassured him from one of the chairs around the table. To Arthur's surprise, Emperor Francis was present at James' side. Judging from the blue-eyed blonde's expression, the Emperor was taken aback by his Empress' arrival, too. "Thistle," Arthur blinked as disbelief turned to dread in the Emperor's eyes. Aversion overwhelmed the lines of his face and his tone as the Emperor spoke, "I don't want hi-"

"Now, now, Francis," James interrupted with an unnatural smile on his face, his wrist pinning their sovereign's hand against on the table in an iron grip and while large fingers caressed his knuckles affectionately in a contradiction. "Don't worry, things would go according to plan." There was something terribly _off_about his tone.

Something was really, _really_wrong. "What is happening?" Arthur took half a step back reflexively.

"I wouldn't want to move away, if I were you," James spoke coldly, a throwing knife pointed at his brother's chest. The Thistle's stare was downright murderous, the malice chilling Arthur to the bone, freezing his foot to the ground. "Come closer," James beckoned, his gaze threatening. "Sit opposite to me." The narrow space of the alcove ensured that the siblings were but a couple of yards apart, and if there was anyone who could aim better than Arthur at archery, it's his eldest brother James. Arthur had no doubt that if James had the intention to kill him, he would die.

"Thistle," Emperor Francis choked. "Put the knife down! Why are you involving your bro-AAAH!" his words blended into a scream when James' fingers clamped down tightly around his hand.

His brother hated to be patronized. He wouldn't take kindly to being told to put down his weapon. "James," Arthur gulped as he obeyed, his feet bringing him closer to danger despite the blaring signs in his head and the adrenaline coursing in his blood, telling him to stay the hell out or knock his brother's teeth. His voice sounded faint to his own ears. "What are you doing?" Arthur should keep calm and attempt to distract him carefully. "What are you planning to do?"

The grin that split James' face to two looked _insane_. "This," he said.

And he plunged the blade into Emperor Francis' chest.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: I'm sorry it's rushed. I don't want to drag on Arthur's past too long.

PLEASE don't forget the magic R-word!

Also, before you write 'D: James, that is not cool!', read carefully. Read carefully the mini interaction between James and Francis.

Notes:

1. After some research on Chinese harem and Turkish harem, I decided to place a ranking system in the harem. In descending order of power:

Empress Consort (1), Honored Consorts (by default 3, additional appointed upon giving birth to male heirs), Imperial Concubines (max 5 per 1 Honored Consort), Concubines (unlimited, not given title of 'flowers').

2. In essence, the Honoured Consorts' direct 'boss' is the Empress Consort, so the support of the trio is really convincing, not just to the rest of the harem, but to other nobles.


	10. Chapter 2,6: Jack fell down & Jill

A/N: Yesterday I stumbled upon images of Andrej Pejic (http:/ /models . com / people / andrej-pejic). He's so beautiful. He's like, the perfect image of how a begetter looks like.

You know, in Garden, I have the flowers dressed in male clothing. The clothing can have feminine styles - frills and ribbons, large sleeves, robes with cinched waist, a bustier even (remember Arthur's first wedding suit?) - but they are, undoubtedly, male clothes. No corset and no layers of skirt.

**I have a question: Should begetters have the choice to wear women's clothes too?**

The thing is I always picture Kiku and Yao in female kimono and Shanghai dress. This is because female period clothing in China and Japan weren't that much different from their male counterparts. Males wore muted colours and slimmer obi/belt (for Kiku) or pants under the slit of baggier Shanghai one-piece (for Yao). It helped that Japanese kimono emphasised on straight lines and not curves. But I've never pictured Arthur in a corset and full skirt. I've seen gorgeous fanarts of him in modern skirt/one-piece, but never, you know, in 16th Century or even Victorian kind of dresses...

**Another question: would you want me to give some focus on the clothing and the setting, or just continue with the politics?**

Arrghh, now I feel like rewriting some parts of the previous chapters! Like the clothes the Carnation and the Edelweiss wore in formal parties!

But anyways, please answer my questions.

* * *

><p>Warning: some gore.<p>

Part 2.6: Jack and Jill Tumbled Down the Hill

Arthur could merely watch, with wide eyes, when James pulled the knife out only to pierce another patch of skin over Francis' torso. And another. And another. Blood sprayed from the gaping wounds, bathing the two brothers in thick, _warm_, crimson fluid.

"STOP!" Arthur cried shrilly and threw himself at his brother, latching on his muscular arm and struggling with his legs and teeth until James dropped his knife. He kicked the lethal weapon to the other corner of the room and pinned his considerably larger brother with a knee over his throat before crawling on his elbows to the fallen Emperor.

"Please hold on," Arthur spoke fervently as he tore the tattered fabric of Francis' shirt, soaked in blood so dark the pale blue fabric had turned black. The blood seeped to the sleeves of Arthur's green robes, but the Empress Consort paid them no heed, deft fingers pulling the tablecloth to the floor and pressing the balled-up fabric to the wounds to stall the bleeding.

"A…Art…" The Emperor gurgled.

Arthur shushed him. "Don't worr-"

The older monarch's fingers clutched his sleeve weakly, his eyes shifting in and out of focus. His thin lips curled to a soft, peaceful smile. "I'm…sor…ry…" he managed before his fingers went slack and his eyes dulled.

Emperor Francis of House Bonnefoy had passed away.

_What?_

Arthur barely made sense of his (late) husband's apology when the door to the alcove was suddenly wrenched open. An army of the West's elite soldiers stampeded into the room, led by a tall man with greying hair, his thin frame swathed in violet and indigo.

Duke Orleans, the late Empress Consort Iris' father.

"Arthur and James of House Kirkland," the soldiers drew their swords and point them at the siblings as Duke Orleans spoke, "You're hereby arrested for the murder of Emperor Francis."

_What?_

"Jame-" Arthur turned to his brother sharply, panic and puzzlement clouding his eyes, but the older begetter was _laughing._ Loud guffaws that shook his entire body.

He'd lost it.

"_Don't worry, things would go according to plan."_ Arthur remembered hearing, and his heart _sank._ [1]

When his wrists were bound and he was manhandled off the floor, the widowed monarch didn't bother struggling.

* * *

><p>"Duke Orleans convinced you to do this, didn't he?"<p>

Much, much later, after the soldiers had humiliatingly stripped any lint of finery off his skin and forced him into the coarsest material he'd ever worn since birth, tortured him in a mockery of an interrogation (which he could give no answer to any of the inquiries and accusations no matter how hard the whip hit his skin because he was _innocent_, damn it!) and thrown him into the prison in the dungeon like a sack of potatoes, Arthur asked.

His companion, who was hunched at the corner across the damp, filthy, windowless cell (which reeked of piss, crap and other bodily fluids Arthur really didn't want to think of), dull green eyes staring bleakly at the cold, hard stone tiles of the floor, his bulky frame unmoving as a statue, merely grunted. "No."

Arthur inhaled sharply. "Why?"

Silence.

Angered by the lack of response, Arthur rose to his feet and crossed the cramped space in two strides. He raised his arm high and brought his palm against his brother's cheek. Hard. Neither the resounding SLAP nor the thud as the side of James' face knocked against the wall made Arthur feel any remorse.

"You do realise that you've put our family in danger, don't you!" the youngest Kirkland hissed.

His slap was a measly addition to the array of wounds and bruises their interrogators had placed on the former flower's skin.

"I've written to them," James merely shrugged from his awkward, twisted position on the wall, his eyes continued staring at _nothing._ "I've told them to run away, as far as they could, to places nobody can find them."

_And what about me?_

Arthur collapsed to his knees in despair, an indescribably heavy weight crushing his chest. He wheezed as he struggled to take air into his lungs. "I told you, I didn't seduce him," his sight blurred, and when he blinked his cheeks felt wet. "Do you think a brat like me would know how to? Why didn't you trust me?" he croaked, his voice breaking to a hoarse sob.

"It doesn't matter," there was a snicker in James' tone. "You weren't good enough," he whispered. The curl of his lips weren't sinister or vengeful, but deprecating, desolate, devoid of any _hope_. "Both of us weren't."

Arthur pressed his palms against his ears, closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, cried into the coarse material that covered his knees over the coldest night he'd ever experienced.

* * *

><p>They didn't let him (<em>them<em>) go to his (_their_) former husband's funeral.

A change of clothes (not that it mattered, the prisoner's garb dark enough to be black) was Arthur's only signal that the mourning period had started. James had come out of his husk and begged and pleaded and screamed, but nobody heeded him.

Arthur merely pressed his ear to the wall of the dungeon, seeking futilely for the clanging of the bells of the Cathedral's mass, closed his eyes and prayed. For himself. For his family.

For the love that could have been.

* * *

><p>The trial lasted for less than fifteen minutes in entirety.<p>

"Why did you murder Emperor Francis?"

"I didn't do it," he told the Judge and his juries straight to their faces, his gaze straight and unwavering.

"Who else have you conspired with?" the Judge continued indifferently, his voice cold and unforgiving.

"I wasn't involved!" Arthur raised his voice. "If anything, it's Duke Orleans who was the mastermind-"

"Do you have any proof?" the Judge cut the accused off.

Arthur was taken aback. "No," he started with a small voice. His hands clutched the wooden railing of the raised platform he'd been placed on, the chain of dark, heavy iron that trapped his wrists clinking as he moved. "But he has the strongest motive to do so and I have NONE! Why would I want to murder the man who, by virtue of living, made me the second MOST POWERFUL person in the entire Empire?" Arthur's distinctive green eyes gazed into those of the juries, imploring for support and scanning for allies.

"That's what I'd like to know as well," the Judge remarked dismissively.

Arthur flinched. "Your Grace-"

"Arthur Kirkland, all incriminating evidences we've gathered point out that you and your brother had willfully planned and executed Emperor Francis II's murder," the impenetrable Judge ignored his pleas. "Juries, what is your verdict?"

"Guilty," the noble seated on the top right hand corner of the rows of benches that accommodated a representative of every House in the West raised his hand, the sleeve of his black robe swishing around his forearm, and announced his stand. "Guilty," the man on his left stated less than a breath after. "Guilty," a fellow jury followed. Soon, the room was filled with an orchestra of "Guilty," the words bouncing off the walls and burying Arthur in despair. [2]

Although Antonio Carriedo, Roderich Edelstein, the former Cornflower and Minister Zwingli did not raise their hands, Arthur was not saved.

Before the moon waned, Arthur was to lose his head to a guillotine.

* * *

><p>James departed the world of the living with a bleak stare and rust in his laughter. "Soon," he mouthed at the sky as tears coursed down his cheeks.<p>

A lot of thoughts crossed Arthur's mind as his executioner dragged him up the platform. As he looked at the crowd that had come to witness the death of their fallen Empress Consort, he worried about father, mother, Rhys and Erin. He wondered if Erin had to part with her husband to escape from the Empire with the rest. He wondered if Gabriel was still angry with him. Arthur hadn't said his goodbyes to the true friends he's made in last four years…especially the Princes. He wondered if they knew what was going to happen to him. If they were going to miss him. Undoubtedly, Duke Orleans was going to seize control of the Empire (he's already starting, what's with reclining languidly on a chair set up on a viewing platform opposite to the execution stage), and what was to become of the court? Of the younglings?

_I don't want to die yet_, Arthur thought as he blinked the tears that clouded his misty eyes.

"Arthur! ARTHUR! STOP!"

Speaking of the little devils…as his executioner forced Arthur to his knees and pushed his head down to the block that was still stained by James' blood, Prince Alfred's clear voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd.

The young monarch had been dressed to fight it seemed, the colours and symbols of the Royal House displayed proudly on his clothes under the pitch black of his velvet mourning robes. Prince Matthew was present with his twin, dark blue eyes resolute. Half a step behind him, holding their hands was Roderich, also in black and his House's colours, the design of his robes clearly less feminine – no frills, no curves – since he wasn't legally a royal concubine anymore. The trio made their way through the throng, who parted for the royalties like the Red Sea. Arthur's executioner took a step away from him as Prince Alfred climbed the wooden stairs and positioned himself next to the doomed. From the way his legs shook, Arthur could tell that the tactile young boy must have wanted to wrap his arms around his side and bury his face to his stomach, like he used to just a little over half a year ago, but Roderich's hand on the small of his back kept him in check.

"You can't kill Arthur!" Prince Alfred shook his head and held his place adamantly as he spoke to the crowd. "I forbid you!"

"Now, now, Your Highness," Duke Orleans rose to his feet and opened his hands in a placating gesture, his tone patronizing. "This man has murdered your father. This man's dangerous to the Empire."

"I don't believe you!" Prince Alfred's somber expression cracked, "Arthur's cared about this Empire more than father! I know this!" Prince Matthew took a step closer to his brother and nodded, a quiet, solid support in the debacle.

"Don't you want your father's honour restored?" Duke Orleans clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Children like you won't understand…"

"I beg to differ!" Prince Alfred flinched. The Duke had made a huge mistake. He did not take kindly to being treated as a child. "The person who'd destroyed my father's honour was my father himself! I know very well what rumours have been circulating around the court, around my own home." he spoke challengingly. "I didn't hear you defending my father's honour!"

The Duke gritted his teeth. "Your Highness-"

"I'm an Imperial Prince!" the young boy didn't let anyone interrupt him. "Currently the first in line to the throne! No one can tell me what to do!" For one moment, the glare he'd cast his own grandfather wasn't that of an eight(almost nine)-year-old, but that of a young man who knew that he was born to be the ruler of the world, brimming with confidence, strength and righteous anger.

The yard was enveloped in silence as the two powers battled through their gaze.

Duke Orleans stared at his grandson's stubborn eyes for a long time before he sighed. Since he wasn't formally recognised as the Princes' Regent (yet), he had no power over the brat.

(Besides, what kind of harm could the fallen Kirkland do?)

"Very well," the Duke would concede, for now. "Arthur Kirkland's life shall be spared under one condition."

"Let us hear it first," Roderich cut in. The battle wasn't over yet.

The Duke tsk-ed inwardly. "That Arthur Kirkland be exiled-"

"No," the former Infante rebuked the offer straight away, "How are we to know that you won't finish him off when he's away?"

The Duke narrowed his eyes. "Then, what are you offering?" he nearly snarled. The Duke would take great pleasure in rejecting all of them.

Roderich looked down and stared into the eyes of his former student for a while, apology apparent in his gaze, before he finally faced the elderly authoritative figure again. "That Arthur Kirkland be a slave to the Crown," he bargained in his characteristically tenor voice, "owned by the Castle and the Royal House. Since the Princes insist of keeping him in their sight, I think this is the best course of action."

All breath seemed to leave Arthur's lungs. Him, as a slave. Devoid of any rights, properties and _a name_, serving and obeying the whims of others his whole life.

(Would death or a life rotting in prison be better?)

Duke Orleans' eye twitched. Raised under the guidance of Archduke Edelstein, Roderich would have been a force to reckon with if he wasn't an Infante [3]. The decisions he made were very much sound. "Very well," he agreed half-heartedly.

And once again, Arthur's fate was sealed.

TBC

* * *

><p>(tho I don't technically have the tradition...) Happy Thanksgiving! And please REVIEW! I have 2 exams on Monday and Wednesday which have huge potential of being screwed up...I need all the happiness I can get.<p>

A/N:

1. Perhaps I didn't manage to make this very clear...but James wasn't the only person to blame here. The so-called _plan_ between James and Francis involved a joint-suicide. YES, Francis did want to die, still.

Have you ever humoured yourself thinking you can change for the better, only to encounter something that reminded yourself that no, you can't change after all, and you ended up more depressed than you originally were? Francis encountered that. In the background. I've never really written about his feelings, but yes, that was what he'd been feeling, the whole time. Francis was hiding this from Arthur, because he didn't want to depress that kid. But James knew Francis still wasn't feeling happy. Hence his saying, "You weren't good enough, both of us weren't."

Francis was saying sorry to Arthur because he was sorry he still wanted to die, Francis was sorry Arthur was involved in James' last-minute stunt.

And the position of an Emperor is a highly coveted, highly dangerous one. It's not surprising that someone, who knew of Arthur's and James' family relation, noticed James' resentment toward Arthur and utilised it for his own ulterior motives. The point is: James, like Arthur, was a pawn. A sad, sad pawn.

2. The scene of the trial was inspired by Ann Boleyn's trial from the movie 'The Other Boleyn Girl' a few years ago.

3. Infante is the title and rank given in the European kingdoms of Spain (including the predecessor kingdoms of Aragon, Castile, Navarre and León) and Portugal to the sons of the King who were not the heir to the throne. In this context I tweak the meaning of the title. Archduke Edelstein was one of Emperor Francis' father's half-sisters' husband, so technically Roderich was Francis' half-cousin and very strongly a royalty, but he had no rights to the throne.


	11. Chapter 2,7: At the Bottom of the Ocean

Reply to anonymous reviewer:

Hanabi: Looking forward to see whether your predictions are right hehe. And it's charming your parents get along well. It makes me feel like smiling too.

* * *

><p>Warning: allusion to non-con, and sobfest.<p>

Part 2.7: At the bottom of the ocean (there are treasures)

At eleven, Arthur had been taken off his ancestral grounds without knowing that he would never once again set foot onto the home of his birth.

At fourteen, Arthur had become one of the youngest Empress Consorts in history.

At fifteen, the same begetter found himself subjugated to a life of slavery.

The branding must be the most awful moment of his life. The way red hot iron seared his flesh, melting layers of skin and fat and burning the muscles below his collarbone as he trashed in pain – pain, so much pain clouding his senses, his nerves on fire –his arms and legs pinned under iron cuffs on the ground, the cold, thick metal chafing his skin. He didn't believe that that animalistic, blood-curdling _scream_ filling the dungeon was spilled out of his own mouth until his throat _hurt_ when he attempted to stop his saliva from leaking off his lips. Arthur could literally smell his own burnt flesh, and it made him sick. Fortunately, there was only bile when he vomited on the floor next to his head, otherwise the stench would have triggered his gag reflex again. As it was, Arthur passed out from the pain soon after he was branded.

The other slaves and servants were kind enough to clothe him in garbs with low collars. His mark of ownership was exposed for everyone to see, sure, but at least there was no layer of fabric irritating his raw, sensitive wound. Anyways, the sooner it dried the better.

Ironically, his first noteworthy 'task' was to safely transport the former Cornflower, Antonio Carriedo and Princess Maria out of the Capital.

They'd approached him in the dark of the night a few days after the fever that signaled his infection from the branding cooled down. Roderich had been keeping contact with him as he fed him medicine secretly. When asked, Arthur admitted that he was familiar with the ways of the underground water tunnels in the Capital (don't ask how or why) so he was in.

"You won't believe the nerve of that old geezer," the former Carnation sighed as Arthur helped him pack the handiest of clothing for every season into his luggage in silence. His young daughter was asleep at the other end of his chamber. "As soon as he's Regent, he started replacing the Ministers in the parliament with his own people! And there have been mysterious disappearances of those who opposed him. Soon enough, he'll be sending people to assassinate us," he frowned.

"That's why we're getting away before he can," the former Cornflower threw a cloak at Antonio's face. "Less talking and more packing!" He placed his hands at the sides of his heavily pregnant waist. He looked so full, like he was about to give birth any time. Arthur eyed his abdomen warily, concerned about his state.

The albino noticed Arthur's stare and merely grinned wryly. "We have no choice," he shook his head, "better leave now with the baby inside of me. It's harder to watch out for his people once he or she is out of my body. The awesome me will be fine, brat!"

Instead of rolling his eyes (like he used to do), Arthur merely bit his lower lip and busied himself with packing.

"…Hey," the albino nudged his former student on the shoulder with one hand, the other hand digging deep into the recess of his pocket. Arthur blinked as he procured a golden necklace with small chips of blue and red gems attached to the delicate chain, and deposited the jewelry to his hand.

"When you need money for yourself, sell it," his former sword fighting tutor grinned at him when Arthur looked at him in puzzlement. "My House's emblem is cast on this plate, here," the albino pointed at the metal near one of the beads, "so that if anybody tries to raise a fuss by claiming that you stole it from them, you can tell him I gave this to you."

Arthur raised his brow as Roderich snorted. "Won't that sound suspicious after you're missing?"_Well said, Roderich,_ Arthur thought. The Cornflower often meant well, but he was…sometimes mentally challenged.

"Err…" the albino blinked before his cheeks turned red. "Shaddup! Anyways, sell this the first chance you get! The money will certainly do you some good!" he huffed.

Arthur accepted the necklace with his palms and smiled. "Thank you."

Everyone paused and stared.

Arthur blinked. "W-what?"

The former Cornflower ruffled Arthur's hair. "It's good that you can still smile." He, too, had a smile on his face. None of his badass grin – just a soft, simple smile. "Listen, brat, the key to surviving in the Castle is to stay low. And stick to Alfie. He can and he will protect you."

"I know…" Arthur looked down at the floor, "but…I don't want to bother him."

"Seriously? Alfie would cry a flood without you. That kid needs you!" The albino raised his voice.

Everyone shushed him and peered at the Princess in the bed. She was still blissfully asleep.

"Think of it this way," Roderich continued in hushed tones, "You're the only parental figure Their Highnesses have left, because the only thing Duke Orleans is interested in is how he can manipulate his grandsons to do his biddings. The Princes will play their part, and you should play yours too."

"Well said!" The red-eyed begetter slapped Roderich' back and the brunet scowled. "By the way, little master, where will you be going?" he asked casually.

Roderich was neither pregnant nor with a child. Arthur thought (hoped) he was going to stay.

"To my father's home, most likely," the bespectacled musician sighed. "I have no wish to serve Duke Orleans or be involved in his politics. I'd rather retreat away from the Capital. I imagine the court will be a circus under his…reign." He turned to Arthur and his lips curled downward. "I'm sorry."

Arthur shook his head. "No such thing," he mumbled, "everyone should take care of himself now."

The former Carnation snapped the lid of his luggage with a resounding 'click' that carried a sense of finality. The four widows looked at each other for a long time, memorizing each other's features, before Roderich ended the strange moment of connection by clearing his throat. "Well…"

Antonio picked up his (still slumbering) daughter into his arms, while Arthur picked up their luggage. "Let's go!" The brunet grinned.

They departed.

(Every slave and servant was heavily punished after the disappearance of two prominent former flowers and one (and a half) heir to the throne was discovered. But nobody could track it back to him. Roderich had covered their tracks well. Arthur kept an ear for any news of them and breathed a sigh of relief after weeks of no news. When it was time for Roderich to depart, Arthur still shed a tear no matter how much he'd steeled his heart.)

* * *

><p>"Arthur!"<p>

Prince Alfred launched himself into Arthur's arms the moment the slave entered his room to change the linens. Apparently, the chief had made him in-charge of cleaning the Princes' chambers after the Princes (or rather, Prince Alfred) stirred up a ruckus. Still, one week had passed from the day Arthur owed his life to the young blue-eyed blonde.

"Where have you been?" Prince Alfred sighed as he nuzzled the older man's side, small arms holding his waist tightly. "I've been so scared for you…"

Arthur placed his hand on the Prince's shoulders awkwardly, his fingertips giving the royalty the barest of touch. "I'm sorry to have worried you, Your Highness."

The Prince withdrew from him and glared. "Arthur," he frowned, "call me like you used to."

"Prince Alfred," Arthur kneeled in front of his charge to bring their eyes level, "things have changed. I'm no longer in a position that allows me to touch you and address you casually."

"As long as we're alone, it should be okay, right?" Prince Alfred's lips turned downward. "Arthur-"

"Excuse me…" the door to the room creaked open, and Arthur nearly jumped away from the Prince before Prince Matthew's head poked into the room. "I heard Arthur's here…" he slipped into the small gap between the door and the frame and shuffled his feet.

"Prince Matthew," Arthur allowed the shy Prince a smile. "Your humble subject is here." He gave him a quick bow.

Though the quiet monarch looked bothered by his former tutor's greeting, he approached him steadily and offered a bundle of paper to his face. "…You've lost weight," his thin brows creased, "I've brought some food for you…I hope…no, I insist you accept it."

Arthur resisted the urge to blink and let his smile widen instead. Passive aggressiveness suited Prince Matthew, somewhat. "Thank you very much, Your Highness," Arthur raised his hands to receive the package.

Prince Alfred, who was pouting and glaring at his twin for taking Arthur's attention off him, suddenly grabbed Arthur's hands. His skin was filled with angry red burnt marks and hard calluses. "What happened to them?" Prince Alfred asked worriedly as he pulled one of Arthur's hands closer to his face and turned his palm.

"Prince Alfred, you needn't worry," Arthur reassured the boy as the three of them stared at his battered hand. "I was just ironing clothes [2]," he stated, but when Prince Alfred touched one of the blisters he couldn't help but jerk and hiss in pain.

"You're not okay at all!" Prince Alfred's frown deepened. "I'll tell the chief to get you off ironing duti-"

"No, I'm really okay," Arthur insisted. He knew the former Edelweiss had told him to let Prince Alfred protect him, but this was really too much, he felt. "Do you remember that a few months ago, when you started learning sword fighting, your palm started to hurt?" Arthur moved his finger across the raised, hardened calluses on the young Prince's palm. Almost immediately, Prince Alfred quieted. Arthur had learned long ago that his young charge tended to behave agreeably when he was showered with affection, and used this finding to get him to at least listen to his views. "It's the same with this," Arthur smiled at him, "give it a few more days, and I'll be fine."

Prince Alfred stared at him for a long, long time before his gaze dropped to the mark below Arthur's collarbone. "…Does it still hurt?" His fingers reached out to caress it, only to halt midair.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Arthur answered honestly.

The Prince sighed. "If you say so…"

When Prince Alfred settled himself on Arthur's chest, his protests settling onto the silent crease on his brows, Arthur let him be. He sent Prince Matthew, who was eyeing the oldest blonde hesitantly, a welcoming gaze. The smile on the quieter twin's face when he joined them in a group hug was simply beautiful.

* * *

><p>Surprisingly, Arthur settled into the life of a slave fairly well.<p>

He'd been rotated to different parts of the Castle for the chief to find what he was good at performing [1]. He was forbidden from entering the kitchen after barely ten minutes of chopping vegetables and boiling soup, but generally, Arthur loved the stable, the gardens and the laundry room best. He loved taking care of the horses, digging his fingers in dirt as he planted the bulbs or sitting next to the window sill with beddings or curtains for the next balls or celebrations in his hands.

It was probably because the home of his ancestral grounds didn't employ that many servants. Women didn't survive very well in northern borderlands, which were riddled with harsh weather, wild animals and threats of disputes with neighbouring states. There weren't that many farms either, so they grew their own vegetables. Erin was too clumsy with threads and needles so more often than not it was Arthur who accompanied their mother in autumns, stitching the seams of winter coats for four growing children near the fireplace, as James and their father looked for firewood. Rhys liked to insist on the importance of taking care of his horses (and sheep), and the mares he'd nurtured could run faster than the wind and often won races in town. Arthur had learned a lot from simply lending his quiet brother a hand.

(Reminiscing on his childhood made him miss his family like there was a hole in his chest, so he'd quickly banish the memories from his mind and focus on the chores at hand.)

Some slaves and servants [3] liked to mock him and assign him heavy tasks or beat him up for 'not moping the floor properly' (for he was a newbie and therefore, at the bottom of the food chain and boy, did they like reminding him of that), but mostly they ignored him. Some of them treated him amicably, too, for Arthur never reacted to any baiting or kept a distance with anyone. He was unexpectedly calm about the transition over his lifestyle.

His sleeping quarter was a barrack shared with numerous other slaves. His bunk bed was made of rattan and hay (as a newbie, he was relegated to the bottommost surface, where bugs could crawl over him when he slept). He hadn't been able to sleep well, because during cold, windy nights the draft was terrible.

And the child sleeping next to him had been crying.

She was a small, small girl, aged six at most, with beady dark eyes and shoulder-length inky black hair. Her parents must have been Easterners. She'd quieted after she'd been shushed by the teenage girl sleeping above her, but still sobbed herself to sleep on most nights, occasionally hiccoughing and blowing her nose quietly.

Arthur let her be and minded his own business (there were too many miserable children in slavery for him to care of) until one afternoon, when he was sitting in the laundry room behind a basinful of tablecloth, bubbles and scent of flowery detergent filling the damp room, the section-in-charge - a strict redhead in her mid-twenties with a no-nonsense attitude - barged into the room and shouted, "Who of you idiots washed the crimson curtains of the throne room till the colour fades?"

Arthur distinctly remembered his sleeping neighbour the Eastern kid working on those curtains in the morning (because the cloth was huge and took a long time to scrub). He peeked to the side and there she was (she had mostly the same shifts with him, having entered the Castle not long before Arthur's life as a slave started), scrubbing another piece of cloth. Her small, short hands were shaking. But the rest of her body wasn't, and she wasn't avoiding the section-in-charge's scrutinizing stare. She wasn't afraid of the punishment, it seemed (one learned how to accept them with resignation after sometime), but a longer look on her arms revealed that they were marred blue, black and red, dark straight lashes left behind from recent caning still unhealed. That must be the reason for her mistake.

Before the other slaves pointed at her in unison (for everyone would be punished if no one claimed the blame, and children weren't spared any mercy in slavery), Arthur quickly voiced out. "I deeply apologise, it was my blunder."

The in-charge pursed her lips at him. "Get out," she barked.

Arthur caught the kid's anxious gaze before he exited through the door and sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Much, much later, when everyone was asleep and Arthur was trying to ignore the stinging of his arms, someone shimmied to his side and draped a makeshift blanket of messily-patched old clothes over him.

"Why did you take the caning for me?" she whispered as she touched his hands softly, beady eyes staring raptly at him like a kitten's.

"Because you couldn't possibly withstand anymore with these hands," he caught her wrist in his significantly larger palm and dropped a kiss to her skin. God, but was he a sucker for kids. "Don't mind it too much."

She grew quiet for a while before she finally curled herself into a ball and tucked herself under Arthur's chin. "I only managed to snatch enough material to patch one blanket," she whispered in explanation.

"I'm Arthur," Arthur accepted her gratitude. "What's your name?" he asked as he petted her hair absently.

"Xin," the little girl answered as she dozed off. [4]

And that was the start of their relationship.

(His uncovered legs still felt cold, but the warmth of her small body made up for it. After weeks of restless sleep, Arthur finally obtained a piece of respite.)

* * *

><p>Arthur liked serving the nobles the least.<p>

Whenever he swept the floor or changed the beddings of guests chambers, he always executed his tasks with as much efficiency as possible. Sometimes, when he wasn't fast enough to slink away from the masters of the chambers' sight, some of the aristocrats (especially Duke Orleans' men) liked to command him to perform 'favours' for them.

"You're good, huh?" They often said as they used his mouth or…his other body parts. "Did you use these to get the Emperor hooked?"

After these episodes, Arthur often secluded himself near the well at the edge of the Castle, close to the forest, at night, and scrubbed himself till his skin was red and raw even when he was still bruised. He'd shiver, his teeth clacking as he vomited bile and half digested chunks of coarse bread onto the ground and still he couldn't get the foul taste of semen and cum out of his mouth and he felt _disgusted_, he hated it, he _hated_ himself so much-

Then Xin came to him with warm leftovers from the kitchen (Xin got assigned to kitchen duties way, way more often than Arthur), wiped him dry, treated his wounds and let him cuddle her as they ate together, and life seemed a little better.

(Life seemed most bearable in Spring, when the flowers he'd tended started to bloom, and it didn't hurt to stay in the gardens as long as he could because he wouldn't get sunburns. Cool breezes weaved between his hair and his sweaty neck and Arthur thought he'd found a piece of Heaven on earth.)

* * *

><p>"Are you hurt?"<p>

Arthur looked up from the clean clothes he was folding and arranging into the closet to Prince Alfred, who was in his pajama robe, swinging his legs at the edge of his four-poster bed. "…Not particularly," Arthur pasted a smile on his face.

(Though technically he was in-charge of tending to the Prince's chamber, Arthur only spent a maximum of six hours per week here, most of which the owner was out studying with his (new) tutors. The master of the chamber had taken to skipping classes to wait for him on several occasions, and it took some negotiating with the chief to fix Arthur's schedule in such a way that he would clean Prince Alfred's rooms when the monarch was actually inside.)

Prince Alfred frowned. "But you've been limping."

Arthur's heart lodged itself in his throat. For a moment, the only thing he could feel was fear and _oh no he knows now_before his heartbeat slowed down again. "…I tripped over the stairs when I was cleaning the railings," he finally managed to say.

Prince Alfred's sky blue eyes stared into his eyes in a piercing gaze. "…Liar," he hissed vehemently.

"Prince Alf-"

"Somebody hurt you, right?" The boy rose to his feet and approached the slave with sure, steady steps. (He was almost ten years old now, and shooting up like a stalk, lean muscles from sword fighting and physical exercises with the Empire's best veterans and teachers filling his limbs and torso. Arthur already knew Prince Alfred would grow up to be bigger than him, bigger than his own father, even). "Tell me who did it!"

"Please, calm down," Arthur rose to his feet, too, and moved his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Nobody hurt me. I just tripped."

"…do you seriously think I would believe your lie?" the Prince took a deep breath and stopped in front of the older blonde, hurt clouding his expression. "…you know that you can count on me to protect you, right?" he placed his hands on the thinner man's shoulders, blue eyes merely inches lower from Arthur's.

"…Of course I do," Arthur replied, and he believed what he said. "It's just…" _you will think I'm disgusting you'll hate me you won't understand,_ "…I was clumsy enough to make mistakes and so I was punished. It's as simple as that. I can handle it on my own. You can't be giving me special treatments all the time. What would the nobles feel if they see the Crown Prince devoting his time to worrying about just one slave? They may be working for you as your ministers or administrators in the future, you know," he spoke calmly. For one moment, Arthur felt like he was still the Prince's tutor, advising the boy on how to deal with politics in his court.

_You don't get it,_Prince Alfred thought and frowned._You're still trying to protect me._"I'm fine," he insisted, "I can handle them on my own too!"

"So let us handle our issues on our own, then," Arthur latched on to the Prince's own words, and the boy seethed when he realised he'd been led. "Arthur!" his pitch rose.

"Your Highness," Arthur placed his hands over Prince Alfred's hands and rubbed them soothingly, "Trust and respect has to be earned. To be the best ruler for your Empire, you should focus on building your knowledge and your relationships with the nobles, do you understand?" He offered the boy a soft smile.

_You're not 'just one slave',_ the Prince protested inwardly, but he conceded (for now) and laid his head on Arthur's shoulder and enveloped his (thin) frame in his arms. Expectedly, Arthur allowed the embrace.

On hindsight, Arthur should have been sensitive enough to recognize that utilizing touches to keep the boy's temper and stubbornness in check would yield repercussions, but he didn't stop.

And the repercussions continued to grow.

TBC

* * *

><p>REVIEW PLEASE!<p>

Notes:

1. I purposely not make Arthur the Princes' nanny….because the Princes were growing too old for a nanny, and it'd be awkward, not to mention almost impossible, falling in love with a boy you helped bathe and clothe every day, the boy you had to look after 24/7. The way I made it, Arthur only saw the Princes routinely but occasionally. It's not so awkward later, when Arthur and Alfred started becoming attracted to each other.

2. Coal iron, dude. Not easy to handle!

3. What's the difference between a servant/maid and a slave? Well, servants get paid. They get marginal benefits like unpaid leave to see their families outside the Castle. They are commoners working in the Castle. Slaves (most of the time, war keeps, pardoned criminals, or simply poor people who have no one else) don't get paid (they only get fed and clothed, but no 'buying your own freedom'), and they can't leave the Castle except for running errands. The brand allows people to distinguish the freemen and the slaves. Nobles' personal attendants tend to be servants (freemen) because most slaves are illiterate and attendants need to be smart and attentive.

According to the dramas, in the Forbidden City, servants tended to be assigned to a particular part of the City and/or serving just one particular person only. E.g. servant X worked in the kitchen, servant Y worked in the Archive, etc, the whole time. Well…let's assume in Alfred's Castle the system wasn't so organized…so servants tended to have around 3-4 duties, coz some duties would not take up so much time (e.g. you can't be washing clothes for 15 hours/day!) and some duties were seasonal. E.g. Arthur would be busy gardening in spring and summer, but in winter he would be busy in keeping the rooms warm and ensuring that the horses were comfortable? Something like that? Also, job rotation, yo. Makes it less boring.

4. Xin is my OC, Singapore (Xin-Jia-Bo). She'll grow to be Arthur's most loyal lady-in-waiting, his eyes and ears in the Castle.


	12. Chapter 2,8: The Clock is Ticking

A/N: devious-otaku1013 has drawn me a fanart! Thank you so much, decious-otaku-san! I feel very flattered! The link to the fanart is on my profile, along with other fanarts wonderful readers of Garden verse have drawn for me.

Warning: allusion to non-con and sensitive issue of abortion

* * *

><p>Part 2.8: The Clock is Ticking<p>

Days passed quickly in slavery.

There were always something to do and rarely enough time to rest (or let his thoughts stray to places rather unwelcome). Arthur merely pushed himself forward and didn't allow any regret.

(And Xin had become…his kindred spirit. Like Arthur, the little girl had been left behind by her family. They migrated to the Capital from West-East borders only for her mom to leave her dad to be a mistress of a rich merchant. Her dad sold her to the Castle, and never looked for her again. Arthur and Xin had worked out some kind of symbiotic mutualism over the years, covering each other's backside and preventing each other from making mistakes and getting hurt.)

The Castle was abuzz with the Princes' fourteenth birthday [1] and Arthur was calmly performing his part at the corner of the ballroom, scrubbing the tiles with a brush when Duke Orleans passed by in his inspection of the preparation of the party and noticed him before Arthur could hide.

"Arthur," the Duke summoned him with a gleeful smirk.

Arthur could practically feel Xin tensing across the room and passing him an apologetic look. He gave him a fleeting (and hopefully) reassuring glance (she couldn't have warned him of danger every time, she had gotten him out of harm's way often enough) before rising to his feet and shuffling to the elderly aristocrat and kneeling before him. "Yes, Your Grace?" he asked (even when he knew what the old geezer wanted).

"Come to my chamber after sunset." The familiar command came promptly.

Arthur gulped anxiously. "Yes, Milord," he couldn't help but obey.

If there was anything he truly could not come to terms with in his not-so-new lifestyle, it was the 'servicing' of nobles.

Arthur thought that the novelty would wear off in a couple of years and soon enough they would be ignoring him as though he was just another slave. Instead of getting better, though, the atrocities just continued to escalate. They had taken to hurting him for their gratification (_with candle wax, with whips_), tying him up and ganging up on him. They made him a show, humiliated him and pushed his limits-

(He guessed it wasn't so much about his history. Perhaps it was just in men's nature to relish the chance to subjugate another.)

They were smart enough to hurt him where the Prince could not see, so he wouldn't raise a fuss. Since the Princes left the Castle to be fostered [2] by various Houses in the Empire for over one year (in which their birthday also marked a celebration of their return), their acts of cruelty started breaking new boundaries. Thankfully, they left his bones and blood intact (they wouldn't let him die, not with the threat of the Princes' wrath), so Arthur dreaded more of the kind of 'advices' House Orleans and House Dubois would feed the Princes with and hoped that they could stay longer in House Edelstein and House Zwingli.

(Minister Zwingli used to let him hide in his office to help him with accounts management. He claimed that his new apprentices were idiots. Barely a year after Duke Orleans was appointed Regent, Minister Zwingli left the Court too, fed up with the corruption everyone was encouraging. Better that way. Arthur used to worry about what would happen to him for his insistence on integrity.)

(Arthur worried about many. Several months ago, he felt fatigued and vomited almost at the drop of a hat and nearly had a nervous breakdown _He didn't want to give birth to a bastard, slaves' children could only be slaves and he didn't want that _until Xin concocted him two potions whose recipes she'd heard from older women in the kitchen. One to 'dispel the weed before it takes roots' and the other to prevent future mishaps. In the end, nothing happened. Either the medicines were effective or it might have been just Arthur's paranoia.)

Arthur sighed and steeled his resolve. This was no time for these thoughts. For now, duty called.

* * *

><p>"Ouch!"<p>

"Stay still!" Xin scowled at the older man lying on his front on the table in front of her, limp black strands falling to dark brown irises and threatening to break her concentration before she swept them away with a calloused hand.

"It hurts!" Leaf green eyes glared daggers at the teenage girl, the enormous eyebrows above them twisting to one thick continuous bush. "They sting!" he grunted.

"It'll only be a while!" She huffed and applied more concentrated alcohol on the scars crisscrossing the plane of his back, stark red gashes standing out rudely on horribly pale skin. Arthur yowled and hissed as threads and needle _mended_ his body, sharp yellowish canines sinking on his bottom lips to dampen the sound. Tears pricked at the corners of his sight. "God-"

"There, done!" she did the job as quickly and as thoroughly as she could, with the limited amount of resources they had. Despite her skills (and experience – she didn't want to think about that-), she could still see a lot of white and brown lines intersecting the red ones, old, maltreated injuries – from punishments, from mistreatments, from accidents, from hours of labour – leaving trails of unwanted marks. '_I've been here'_, they mockingly said, '_invaded your body, thoroughly plundered_-'

He felt her eyes on the ruined canvas of his skin and smiled ruefully. "Ugly?"

Xin did not deign to answer that. "Every one of us has them." No slave in the castle had unblemished skin – that luxury only belonged to those more privileged – but not that much. Never could be that much.

Arthur rose to his rear gingerly, hissing when the makeshift bandage dug into sensitive skin. "I swear I almost passed out…" he scratched his torso absentmindedly.

Xin's gaze was automatically riveted to the nebulous shape on his left shoulder blade, a patch of brown skin a shade darker than the rest. Xin would never forget the day her self-proclaimed caretaker acquired that wound. She'd been too young, too clumsy to fix it, and the burn remained. Damn the bastard who put it there to nine levels of hell-

"Xin," he pulled her out of her reverie with a light pat on her head, slender fingers curling around locks of black hair.

She turned away, reprimanded, before returning to her work. There is no rest for the poor. [3]

* * *

><p>Arthur did not expect to meet anyone when he entered Prince Alfred's chamber to prepare for the owner's return. Instead, the slave met a tall figure standing next to the window sill, golden dying sunlight casting shadows against a rhapsody of vermillion and violet on the sky over the glass.<p>

Arthur's heart jumped to his throat. _Had they waited to catch him here, too?_ The slave speculated wildly as he raised his mop and held the long wooden stick like a sword in front of him. "Who's that?" he asked sharply.

The figure turned sharply. "…Arthur?" his low, husky voice called his name with familiarity, but the slave couldn't recall who it belonged to.

Arthur squinted to make out the figure's facial features and his eyes widened when he recognised the shape of those almond eyes, the shade of blue of the irises in them, the curve of those cherubic lips. "P-prince Alfred?"

The figure smiled. "Arthur," he repeated his name like a long missed tune, approached the older blonde in sure, steady steps, and enveloped him in strong, large hands once he was within the monarch's arm's length. "I miss you," he whispered breathily, his mouth moving above Arthur's lobe, his nose nuzzling his temple.

Just one and a half year. And the little imp who used to run toward Arthur to welcome him in high-pitched excitable soprano was gone. In his place was a young man (_a stranger_) whose frame was taller and slightly bigger than the slave's, with broad shoulders, leanly toned torso and barely controlled strength. [4]

"Y-your Highness," Arthur patted the monarch awkwardly, unsure of how best to interact with him once again. "I…didn't expect to see you," he proceeded with a politely-worded query. When in doubt, put a little distance.

"I come back earlier," Prince Alfred withdrew and shot him a youthful grin. His face was familiar again and Arthur sighed in relief. "I miss home too much," his tone grew slightly wistful.

"But your experience has been good, I hope?" Arthur bent down to pick up his pail of soaped water when Prince Alfred stepped away from him and flopped onto his bed.

"Yep!" the Prince groaned as he settled into his bed and stretched his arms, enjoying the feel of the bed he'd slept in since childhood. He shared his stories, depicting heroic victories against bandits and delightful encounters with young ladies and new friends while Arthur moved about the room performing his task. While Arthur had no doubt that the Prince had dramatized his experience, he could see how these experiences had made him grow, seasoned him to a young adult with charm and power.

A pocket of comfortable silence descended upon them. Arthur was relieved that Prince Alfred wasn't harmfully manipulated, while the Prince's fingertips were tracing abstract shapes onto the linen. "There's no dust," he commented suddenly.

"I've been cleaning your chambers regularly," Arthur replied absently as he moved his mop in a wide swing across the floor, refreshing scent of pine filling the air.

"Hmm," Prince Alfred rose to his elbows and watched the thinner blonde unblinkingly. "…did you miss me?"

Arthur nearly tripped over the slippery floor. As it was, the mop fell out of his hands and he scrambled to retrieve it before it clattered to the ground. "Y-your Highness!" He flailed and fidgeted with the wooden handle, thin fingers wringing the material as patches of red spread across his cheekbones.

"I really missed you a lot," the younger blonde continued staring at him from his bed, "I worried about your wellbeing when I was away. I wish there has been someone here whom I can command to keep an eye on you." His gaze was insistent and intense, like he was trying to burn a hole on Arthur's side.

Hesitantly, Arthur turned to look at the monarch. Prince Alfred's even gaze held his eyes for a moment, indiscernible emotions passing across those historically transparent summer eyes. Arthur's heart beat faster before he tore the connection with a soft smile. "Of course I missed you, Prince Alfred," he stated.

And he meant every word of it.

* * *

><p>The day after, Arthur went to greet Prince Matthew. The normally meek boy had become radiant after the fostering. His skin was slightly tanned, his frame had grown a lot and his laughter had taken on a carefree gait. Yet Prince Matthew was still fundamentally the same: a considerate young boy who still had much admiration for his fallen tutor even now. There was no unsure footing in their interactions.<p>

(Prince Matthew didn't make him feel unsettled or make his heart beat faster for unexplainable reasons. Arthur had no doubt Prince's Matthew's perceptions of him didn't change. When Prince Alfred looked at him, though, Arthur had _absolutely no idea_ what went on behind those impenetrable eyes.)

* * *

><p>Prince Alfred was standing in front his closet with a crease between his brows, with servants and maids milling about him, putting his hands into white gloves and his feet to a pair of leather shoes, when Arthur entered his chamber. The slave had finally finished putting up tapestries and laying out polished silver cutleries on the tables in the dining hall and he proceeded to sweep the Princes' rooms while everyone in the kitchen were elbows deep in vegetables, meat and gravy to ensure that the meals in the party that evening would be served perfectly.<p>

"Good afternoon," Arthur greeted.

"Noon," Prince Alfred replied distractedly, his attention fixed on the hands touching him all over his body, fixing creases, and closing buttons. An array of robes, shirts and breeches had been pulled out of the Prince's cupboard and laid on his bed. Arthur peacefully settled in his routine for a while, humming random tunes under his breath before he was addressed. "Arthur?"

"Yes, Your Highness?" Arthur turned to the monarch to find him shifting his weight from one foot to another gingerly. The Prince straightened his spine, placed his hands on his waist and cocked his head. "…What do you think?" he shot him a wry grin.

Arthur blinked. It's the first time someone sought a fashion advice, of all things, from him. When he had been Empress Consort, some young ladies and begetters looked up to him to be a trendsetter like Emperor Francis had been, but the talents weren't just in him Arthur guessed. He preferred music and literature compared to visual arts.

But it's not like the Princes could ask anyone else. Arthur was quite surprised Duke Orleans didn't send anyone down here to advise his grandson on how to clothe himself, but that man had always been far too selfish to care about anyone else. Arthur discarded his broom and wiped his hands as he walked over to the Prince's side. He eyed the clothes critically, examining the colours (grey, black and mottled green – too dark), the material (a bit thick for July, isn't it?), the cut (too serious and a bit too loose), before shaking his head. "Honestly, they look too somber on you, Prince Alfred. They make you look old."

"Huh," the younger blonde scratched his head. "Isn't it good that I look mature in my coming-of-age ceremony?" His grin widened.

Arthur shook his head. "You don't even look mature. You look…like a teenager who has a misfit with his clothes." Like a boy playing costumes.

The other servants stared at Arthur balefully as he voiced his honest opinions. If he wasn't talking to his former charge (whom he'd been with for almost nine years), Arthur was aware that he might lose his head for this blatant display of disrespect. But the Prince merely pouted. "Well, we better change!" he exclaimed happily and tugged his collar. "I'm so relieved! They're kinda very stuffy, yeah."

Arthur scowled at the Prince's grammar reflexively before turning to the closet. "Your Highness, if I may…" he started hesitantly.

He was replied with a shrug. "Go." He shooed the other servants and ladies-in-waiting to dismiss them.

The slave leafed through layers and layers of newly fitted fabrics (they were so much bigger now) till he came across two robes whose design seemed befitting of a young adult, with a little asymmetry to cut. The buttons looked easy to handle and the adornments were not intricate enough to be old fashioned. "Here," he pulled the robe out of the closet and presented his suggestions.

Prince Alfred merely rose back to his feet and spread his arms.

Arthur clothed his former charge in silence, roughened hands slipping limbs into sleeves, breeches and stockings with as much efficiency as possible. Yet his eyes couldn't help but stare in wonder at the growth this young man had undergone, the quiet strength belayed by the muscles on his legs and arms, the gold of his sun-kissed skin. Prince Alfred would be desired by many young ladies and begetters, Arthur absently thought as he secured the younger blonde's cravat with a pin and fixed his lapels. "There," he stated softly as he finished and looked up to smile at Prince Alfred.

The monarch rolled his shoulders to test the comfort of his attire and looked happy when he discovered that he could move quite freely. "How is it?" Prince Alfred preened and spun around.

Arthur stared and had his breath taken away. Royal blue looked really majestic on the royalty. The design of the robe – the simple lines of stitches, the contrast of thin white trimmings and small silver buttons against the blue of his fabric, the straight cut of his black breeches and his aquamarine tie, the distinct lack of frills, laces or any stuffy details – matched his personality. And the fit of his clothes complimented his body. His gold hair had been slicked back neatly, sans the errant flyaway hair which was the Prince's charming, boyish signature. "…Perfect." That moment, Prince Alfred was a handsome stranger to Arthur; for he could not superpose this adult to the boy Arthur'd taken care of in his youth. "You look really fine," he spoke with pride and couldn't help but reach out and pat his hair.

The Prince bestowed Arthur with a soft smile that made his heart stop and offered his hand. "Arthur," he bowed slightly, a perfect gentleman. "Would you like to dance?"

Arthur smiled. "Yep, that's the way you do it," he complimented the Prince's impeccable etiquette.

The prince frowned. "I'm seriously asking you for a dance, Arthur," he continued standing in his stance.

"Eh?" Arthur blinked profusely and took half a step away. "…There's no music."

"It doesn't matter," Prince Alfred hummed a random classical tune under his breath and leaned closer to the thinner, older blonde, "dance with me."

Immediately after the slave took the proffered hand hesitantly, Prince Alfred swept Arthur into his arms and secured one hand behind the small of his back. There was barely any space between the two of them it was almost inappropriate. Before Arthur could voice any concerns, Prince Alfred had tugged him to the left gently and started the dance.

They swayed to the imaginary tune in Prince Alfred's head. The monarch was surprisingly proficient. Arthur relaxed as the steps came back easily to him and though he hadn't been particularly fond of dancing back then, he suddenly realised that he'd missed dancing. When he closed his eyes, he could still imagine the glitter of the chandelier above his head, the twirl of the ladies' colourful gowns and the peaceful smile on…his former husband's face.

It didn't hurt to remember him anymore.

"What are you thinking of?" Arthur opened his eyes when Prince Alfred queried. He stared at the blue-eyed blonde and the soft, charming, youthful smile on his handsome face. Everything else melted away till the only thing Arthur could feel was the broad shoulder under his hand and the strong arms that surrounded him. "How well you can dance," he finally answered.

Prince Alfred's smile widened. "…You used to teach me how to dance, do you remember?" there was so much fondness in his gaze.

"Of course I do," Arthur replied as they continued to move languidly together. "Though I recall you used to hate it so much…and step on my feet once in four steps-"

"Hey!" Prince Alfred interrupted embarrassedly; a lovely shade of pink spreading over his cheekbones.

Arthur merely chuckled and relaxed onto his partner further. "…If you wanted to have a practice, you could have just told me, you know," he almost hummed.

Prince Alfred closed the final distance between them by pressing his cheek to the side of Arthur's face. "…I really want to dance with you in the ball later," he breathed into Arthur's ear. His tone was filled with so much wistfulness. "But I can't, can I?" he sighed as his thumb rubbed his partner's hand softly.

"It's all right," Arthur merely pressed his cheek back against the Prince's face. "You'll have a good time."

They continued to dance until the party almost started.

* * *

><p>The Princes' coming of age celebration had been the grandest, the most cheerful, and the most decadent event in the past decade. The Ballroom had been packed with nobles of all ages, each and every one of them interested in making a good impression to the Princes.<p>

(Prince Matthew endured the superficial pleasantries with a smile plastered on his face, but his twin often stared at the moon over the window, his mind wandering to the absence of the person he wanted the most to be in this celebration.)

Much later, Arthur and Xin had a picnic outside with the leftover food and wines. They needed to reward themselves before the back-aching task that was scrubbing the Ballroom and dining hall's floor the next day.

Considering what was going to happen, the picnic was the last piece of peace Arthur had in a long, long time.

TBC

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><p>REVIEW PLEASE!<p>

A/N:

1. Generally in medieval Europe 14 years old is considered the age of adulthood for males (12 for females).

2. Fostering: an idea I borrow from 'Courtly Banquet' ( hetalia-kink . livejournal ?thread=72075077#t72075077), the US/fem! Allies fic in kink-meme. Though I really shouldn't read that Godly piece before writing mine because I'm affected and want to write more like her/his style.

3. Yes, this is extracted from my April 2010 fic: 'The Thorns Underneath the Petals'. TBH I've had the idea of Prince Alfred marrying slave Arthur for a loooong time.

4. Imagine Alfred and Arthur like in that episode where Arthur came to visit expecting a child only to be shocked that Alfred's grown taller than him. I knew Alfred looked 15-16-ish in that episode…but oh well. Normal 14-year-old boys' heights range from 1.4m to 1.85m.


	13. Chapter 2,9: My Young, Misguided Hero

A/N: I can only upload the next chapter on 14 December 2011 earliest. I'll be busy 24/7 from tomorrow till 13 December 2011. Not to mention I have college final year project due in February 2012…while I haven't even done literary review. I'm screwed, eh.

Warning: mentions of humans treated as sexual objects

* * *

><p>Part 2.9: My Young, Misguided Hero<p>

After the coming-of-age ceremony, came marriage offers.

They arrived in the Castle in carriage-loads [1]. Literally.

All of a sudden, Bonnefoy Dynasty's home was swamped by young daughters and sons of Houses from all over the West and even Ambassadors of neighbouring states and far off lands. The Wings of the large mansion had never been as filled as this. For days, servants and slave cleaned the chambers where Emperor Francis' flowers formerly lived in (most of them were sent home after the death of the monarch), airing and dusting the furniture and scrubbing layers of dust and grime which had accumulated over years of neglect. Normally the Flowers' quarters were symbolic and therefore off limits to guests, but with the sheer inflow of nobles there was just no choice.

Slaves and servants grumbled quietly for days on end, because now they had to prepare more meals and clean more fabrics and floors. The dining hall was more packed than ever every day.

Duke Orleans handled the prepositions like he did his court, with ease and control like a circus ring leader. He let free market mechanism dictate who he should invite to private parties and introduce to his grandsons. Several who attempted to capture the twins' attention on their own couldn't stand a chance.

"And she had such an obnoxious laughter!" Prince Alfred groaned as he flopped onto his back in his bed, gloved fingers tugging off his buttons and throwing off articles of clothing to every corner of his room. "I can't stand this!" he whined.

"Your Highness!" Arthur glared at the brat on the mattress and bent down to pick up the shoe which had been carelessly kicked off to his feet. Thank Goodness the leather wasn't scratched.

The Prince merely turned and pouted at the slave. He looked like a child that instance.

"It's actually not that bad," Prince Matthew sighed from the rim over his glass of water, still dressed primly in the riding crop he donned for that mockery of fox hunting the princes just had with the young begetters from the southern parts of the Empire. The occasion was a joke because southerners were better versed at surfing and navigating ships, not galloping across green hills on horses. Not when southern lands had more sand and flat planes than grasses. The princes'd gone home together and the quieter blonde decided to visit his brother's room so that the three of them could talk together. "It could be enjoyable if only…they didn't make their intentions so…obvious."

"What do you mean, Prince Matthew?" Arthur refilled his glass the moment it was empty and the pale blonde teenager shot him a grateful smile.

"They…" he sighed again and fingered the beads of condensation on the surface of his glass, dark violet-blue eyes staring down absently, "they have been really insistent on getting themselves remembered by us. They…don't bother so much about knowing about us."

Arthur peered at the insightful monarch and smiled. "That's often the case," he commented. Prince Matthew never ceased to amaze him with the maturity of his thoughts. He wished the young man would be more confident of himself. Sometimes, he wished Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew could be put inside a mixer. But, from another angle, both of them were quite lucky to have a sibling who complemented each other.

"But every time they're nice," Prince Matthew continued, "I doubt whether their intention is genuine or not. I don't like this." A frown began to form between his brows. "Like…our coming of age is a floodgate."

For once, Prince Alfred was listening to his sibling quietly, blue eyes watching the other two blondes alertly as he lounged in his bed.

_Well said_ Arthur remarked in his mind before he shook his head. "But that's a risk everyone undertakes whenever he meets new people, right?" he merely shared his opinions. The Princes were slowly learning that what they were born with was a double-edged sword and he was glad. "If we don't open ourselves, we wouldn't be able to connect to other people. In any situation, we should expect the worse but hope for the best." Arthur recited his House's motto wistfully, missing the evenings his father sat with his children in front of the fireplace, imparting fables and family history that taught them that morale.

"Besides," Arthur added with more enthusiasm. He shouldn't bring the boys' mood down. If there was anything Arthur learned from his hardships, it was that reality should be faced with cheer and positivity. "You don't need to take this so seriously! You're still young. Take this opportunity to make friends with ladies from foreign lands and travel."

"Yeah!" Prince Alfred suddenly jumped into the conversation. "Easterners are damn petite! Like a doll! And they're very agreeable. There's this young lord I met the other day-" he chattered on and on about his new friends, ignoring Prince Matthew's protests ('but our cultures are so different, I can't tell what's on their minds, isn't that scarier?').

Arthur merely went on with his tasks and let the comfortably familiar prattling fly over his head.

* * *

><p>"Prince Matthew!"<p>

The quiet blonde looked up from the book he'd been reading at a secluded corner in the library with surprise. For the umpteenth times that month Prince Matthew had utilized his 'special gift' of invisibility to slink away from the 'battle field' that was whatever space his marriage contenders occupied at that point in time to his private hideouts. From time to time, Arthur found him daydreaming in the stable or in the gardens and they engaged in idle chatter.

This time, the man who approached him was dark-skinned and tall in stature, thick strands of black hair pulled back from his forehead in small braids. [2]

Prince Matthew scrambled to his feet. "Lord-"

"Carlos," the burly man placed his hands on his waist and frowned slightly, "how many times have I told you to call me Carlos, Prince Matthew?"

The blonde blushed and shuffled his feet on the ground. "S-sorry, Carlos."

The tanned man grinned widely. "That's the way it should be!" Matthew nearly stumbled when he was slapped on his back.

Lord Carlos from House Castro of the South was one of the very few people who weren't Arthur or family who could actually detect Matthew's presence, though initially he always mistook Matthew for his twin and snarled at his face. Lord Carlos hated Alfred's guts, and he wasn't a begetter. Perhaps these reasons were why Matthew warmed up to him relatively quickly. He wasn't out to marry Matthew or make nice with the monarchs. Matthew could feel that he was very genuine.

"So, Prince Matthew," Carlos leaned his weight on the arm of the chair Matthew had been sitting in and took a step closer to him. "Are you free right now?"

Matthew's heart missed a beat. "Eh?" his face turned even redder. _Was Carlos asking him out?_

"Coz I heard that the older nobles have an _interesting_ private party going on later today," the Southerner continued, and Matthew stopped getting himself worked up. He could tell that he was about to be brought along to an adventure of…a surreptitious nature (and he didn't want to examine how he felt about it). It wasn't the first time. For all his shyness, Matthew could handle porn (un)surprisingly well. It's in his genes, may be. During fostering, when sons of his hosts had brought him to a local bar, he could slip a wad of cash to the bra strap of a striper calmly while the older men had been too distracted by the sight of boobs. And the rumour spread.

"So you want to slip in?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah, buddy," Carlos slipped an arm around the slighter male's shoulders, "you up to it?"

Matthew shook his head inwardly. This strange bonding over peeping, too, was a part of Carlos' honesty (coz no one concerned over making good impressions would expose his kink to strangers, right?). "Okay," he closed his book and left it on the sofa. "Tell me whose room it's in."

Prince Matthew slipped into his grandfather's chamber expertly while shielding his friend behind his back. They quickly hid in a closet and waited until people started filling the room.

"Oh," Carlos gasped above Matthew as they both squeezed closer to the gap they were viewing the party discreetly from. "There are so many people!" he hissed.

"…That's true," Matthew blinked at the sight of…the orgy starting right in front of him. A large number of slaves were roped into the room, he observed from the number of (unwilling) participants with marks of ownership under their collarbones, dragging their feet as they entered the room with bowed heads and shedding their clothes with reluctance. His brow twitched when some of the nobles started bringing out paddles, tying the slaves to a bedpost or a pole, and forcing those thin, bruised people to their knees. His eyes swept through the scene in disdain. "They're pretty hardcore-"

_Wait a moment,_ Matthew's heart rose to his throat when his eye caught someone…familiar. Straggly blonde hair and thick distinctive eyebrows. The prince took a sharp breath. _No no no no please God don't let it be-_

"Don't start acting chaste now, slut!" the harsh, humiliating statement was spoken so loudly after one of the lords delivered a resounding slap to a slave's cheek. Matthew could hear the words clearly from across the room. "I'm sure you've used this often in the past!" Gloved hands dug into thin wrists and held his chin in a tight grip while another man painted his lips bright red with a tube of rouge. The rouge smeared messily across the slave's face [3].

Just as suddenly, one of the men who held him captive forced himself on the slave. Matthew flinched when the slave threw his head back and exposed his face to the prince's sight. He had his eyes shut tightly, his red, plump lips pursed to a line (_to keep his scream in_) as his tense body curved away from the source of his pain. There was no mistaking his features.

Matthew's heart sank.

The slave was Arthur.

_Fuck._

"…What's wrong?" Carlos spoke quietly when he noticed that his companion was shivering.

Matthew forced himself to look away from the _grotesque_, inhumane sight. "Nothing," he said, a tad too sharply, "Carlos, do you know how often these have been going on?"

Carlos watched the prince's silent anger growing and let the lie slide. "I'm not sure…probably once every three to four weeks. I've heard about these private parties quite regularly since I arrived here," he answered.

(_For many years, Matthew had known that Arthur sported a massive number of wounds. Matthew had the inkling that the slave had suffered abuse from various aristocrats in his grandfather's court, and from Arthur's occasional limping Matthew deduced that some would most likely be sexual in nature, but he'd never asked out of respect for Arthur's privacy, and he'd never realised that...that these mistreatment could be so __**cruel **__and__** degrading**__._

_He had to do something now, when he had the proof happening right now, right in front of his eyes.)_

"I see," Matthew had an ice-cold expression on his face, "let's go."

"Wha-?" before Carlos could finish his question, his companion was gone.

* * *

><p>Alfred never thought of his recent situation that way before Matthew shared his worries.<p>

There were times he enjoyed the attention and there were times he didn't (and he would tell his admirers that). They wanted something from him and he wanted something from them. To Prince Alfred, the interactions (_flirting_) were as simple as that.

Besides, some of them were really gorgeous.

Alfred had learned a bit about carnal pleasure from his days in the Houses in southeastern parts of the Empire. Older young adults had smuggled him into tea houses, where women and begetters smiled friendlily even when they were touched inappropriately, and massage houses, where masseurs with steady hands offered extra 'services' in breathy voices when they kneaded your backs, as exotic, therapeutic aroma wafted into your nose in wisps. Though Prince Alfred had not gone 'all the way' with anyone, he had his share of romping in the woods and hidden nooks of his hosts' mansions, touched and been touched in his quest to quell his curiosity.

Alfred had found some of the daughters and sons of Ambassadors from other Empires extremely attractive. Easterners had silky skin, exquisite complexion (not splotched red or freckled like Westerners or Northerners), and delicate countenance that made Alfred want to hold them in his arms. They were like porcelain dolls, always smiling and acquiescent. And the baggy, colourful patterned folds of their kimono robes or Shanghai dresses made that glimpse of pale napes, wrists and ankles so much more enticing and frustrating. Southern females were free-spirited and exotic, with voluptuous figures wrapped in bright, passionate red and vermillion body-hugging saris, lush black hair, large long-lashed seductive dark eyes, strong facial features and smooth chocolaty skin of their exposed slender arms and midriffs Alfred couldn't help but want to lick. They were playful as Abyssinian cats, golden bangles tinkling as they moved their graceful long limbs perfect for dancing. And Northerners were like ice-cream, milky and adorable, with pale blue eyes, silver blonde hair, pinkish pale skin, childlike giggles hid behind the fur lining of their pastel coloured sleeves, an air of innocence that won one's favour like puppy's eyes and smiles that held the secrets of the world. Fearless and precious, they liked to go on thrilling adventures and Alfred liked to spend time with them.

But ultimately, to Alfred, they were but a distraction. They distracted him from one flustering discovery he'd had, which was:

Arthur had gorgeous legs.

Of his thirteen years of life in the Castle, Alfred only just realised that the garments slaves wore were really, really short. They rode high on his pale, lanky, shapely thighs when Arthur bent down to pick up his pail. He couldn't stop staring at Arthur's legs. They weren't smooth or flawless, but Alfred wanted to kiss everything from his delicate ankles to the darker, hardened skin on his kneecaps and lavish his attention on those wounds on his calves. And those bums. Whenever Arthur was on all fours scrubbing the floor, knobs of his curved spine pressing against the thin fabric of his clothes and his arse _wriggling_, Alfred _itched_ to place his hands on those.

The revelation was the most disconcerting thing he'd had since coming back home. Alfred knew the world changed drastically ever since his 'sexual awakening', but to think that he would view his former tutor, the figure who had raised him up and taught him the fundamentals of his knowledge, in this light, had been a total shock to him.

His first reaction was to start fearing whether he would want to start humping anything with two legs (including his other former tutors), but so far he only felt the urge around Arthur and some of those who flirted with him. When he found an old illustration of Arthur, one rare surviving painting of him as Empress Consort back then, Alfred started acknowledging that his old pop had good eyes. Coz Arthur had been (and still was) gorgeous, all lean grace with a hint of feminism most begetters seemed to exude, but with an underlying strength and resilience in his stance, his distinctive eyes and bold gaze. When he smiled (like he did in the portrait) his face lit up radiantly and the glaring absence only made Alfred trace the curve of the person in the portrait's pink lips with melancholy and vow to bring the smile back to his face. Arthur had aged too much. Arthur was baby-faced, and physically he didn't look very old, but there was weariness to the lines of his face that seemed to have seeped deep into his bones. Looking at the portrait and the slave now, one would have the feeling that more than two decades had passed when in truth only six years had. He'd snuck the portrait away from the storage room and kept it in his drawer.

In his fourteen and a half years of life, Arthur had been the only person Alfred had felt an overwhelming desire to protect, to become better for, to be someone Arthur could rely on.

He wondered if this was love.

(There were the obsessions and resentments too. Alfred felt angry whenever Arthur lied to him. And there was this one time Alfred stood in his balcony and sighted Arthur hanging basketful of linens on the laundry lines somewhere below him in the garden. He watched the older blonde as he performed his task peacefully and laughed when Arthur exclaimed in surprise as wind blew the fabrics to his face. But then when a young dark-haired girl caught the sheet which was nearly blown to the ground by a strong gust and Arthur smiled so _fondly _at the girl, Alfred saw red. He was plotting the girl's demise in his mind before Arthur finally noticed him and waved and smiled at the Prince, who promptly melted and waved back and _who cares about the girl, she's probably nobody-_)

"Alfred."

Matthew's familiar voice pulled Alfred out of his reverie. The silent anger in his tone surprised him. "Matthew," Alfred turned to the door and was unsettled by the intense, malevolent expression in his normally amicable twin. The murderous aura he exuded in palpable waves made Alfred gulped nervously and raked his brain for anything he'd done that could have pissed his passively aggressive brother. "H-hey, what's up?" Alfred cursed his stutter inwardly. He couldn't possibly be afraid of his own brother. He's Mattie for God's sak-

Alfred couldn't stop a squeak from exiting his mouth when Matthew crossed the room in three strides and dragged him out of his chamber. "H-hey, Matt-" Alfred nearly bit his tongue from the speed of his twin's jog and resisted. "Where are we going-?"

"It's about Arthur," Matthew let out quietly. And said no more.

Alfred stopped struggling and picked up the pace of his steps. When he realised that Matthew was taking him to their grandfather's quarter, he sprinted through the corridors, the balls of his heels heating as they pressed against the carpeted tile through the sole of his boots to propel his body forward, his twin running along with him. Any news involving their grandfather and Arthur couldn't be good. Those hundred yards distance had never seemed so _far_.

"Your Highnesses-" the guards in front of the Regent's private chamber tried to stop the two boys from barging into the room, their long spears crossed over the door, "His Grace is currently occu-"

"I don't care!" Alfred charged into the room with the tenacity of a bull that had set his sight on the red fabric ahead of him, his whole weight colliding against the door at a terrifying speed. The lock gave way easily and he made his entrance in a bang, his chest heaving with laboured breathing as sweat dripped from his forehead.

Everyone froze.

Alfred blinked at the…carnage happening in front of him, his eyes scanning the expressions of men, begetters and women in various states of undress, shock and violence (_God, is that a whip over there? They're getting off from other people's pain? That's not cool)_ till they caught _that_ face he'd memorized he could see it clearly even with his eyes closed, contorted in fear, so much fear.

Alfred stared at Arthur, the organ beating under his ribcage _aching_ though it was squeezed. Mercilessly_._

"Your Highness, if you wanted to join us," the connection between their eyes were broken when the man whose bit was shoved into Arthur's mouth gripped the slave's hair tightly and pressed his face closer to his groin, groaning shamelessly when a choking sound erupted from the throat he was abusing, "you should have just aske-"

The viscount couldn't finish his sentence, because in a blink of an eye, Alfred had crossed the room and delivered a punch to his face, sending the bigger man flying to the table behind him. The furniture skidded backward and thudded loudly as the man collided with its edge. Before he even landed on his back, Alfred had launched himself on top of him, straddling his legs and hitting his stomach and torso repeatedly. "You bastard-"

"Alfred!" Matthew shouted and rushed to his brother, but a gang of other male nobles were faster on restraining the angered young monarch's limbs and torso and manhandling him off the viscount.

"Let go of me!" Alfred snarled as he struggled, "and don't you dare lay your fingers on him! I'll have them chopped off-"

"Your Highness, why are you so angry?" One of the nobles raised his brow cockily and looked down on the teenager as he spoke. "This slave," the Earl ran his hand through Arthur's hair and the slave flinched while Prince Alfred growled. "He is employed in the Castle. We live in the Castle, so we have the right to be served."

The gang laughed at him mockingly and the Prince gritted his teeth. He slackened to signal to his capturers that he no longer meant them physical harm, and they let him off when he shrugged, but the glare in his eyes were dark and venomous.

"…Then," Alfred's heart was beating loudly, the echoes of his pulse filling his ears. The decision he was about to make was going to change his life forever, and he was young, but somehow, he felt serene and very, very sure that he would never regret it.

"I shall marry him."

* * *

><p>Arthur inhaled sharply in shock.<p>

"I will marry him," the blue-eyed monarch repeated, conviction filling his husky voice and his steady gaze, "so that he'll be mine and you _lot_," disgust was dripping off his voice audibly, "have no right to touch him."

'He's mad,' the herd of male nobles assembled in the chamber started whispering amongst each other. 'My sister had been rejected for…for this? What an insult!' one of them voiced heatedly.

"Now, now, Alfred," Duke Orleans rose from the seat he'd been lounging in, watching the proceedings with amusement in his eyes, and approached his grandson, one hand reaching out to pat his broad, broad shoulder. "If that's your objective, I'm sure there are other means to achieve it. We can transfer the ownership of this slave to your name, specifically, and keep him to yourself-"

"No!" Alfred shook his head adamantly. "I won't have him as a slave anymore. I will have his position elevated! I will marry him and settle for nothing less!"

The lines on Duke Orleans' face hardened. "…No."

The Prince's eyes flashed. "Grandfath-"

"I won't allow it," the Regent narrowed his eyes. "This is utter madness. He must have bewitched you."

"You're the one who's speaking nonsense!" Prince Alfred clenched his fists. "Arthur did no such thing! And if you insist on going against me, I'll sack you!"

The room was enveloped in silence so palpable one could hear a pin drop.

Duke Orleans looked at his grandson in disbelief. "What did you say?" his gaze was _vicious._

"You've been acting as my Regent," Prince Alfred merely stated calmly, "but now that I'm of age, I _can _exercise my rights to the throne. So I'm exercising it."

Arthur's head was spinning. Things were happening too fast. First he decided to marry Arthur (without seeking his consent) then now he was claiming his rights to be an Emperor? Was Prince Alfred barking mad?

The two males battled each other through their stare, each trying to intimidate the other into backing down until suddenly, Duke Orleans' lips curled to a self-satisfied smirk. "You're too hasty, Alfred," he placed his hand on his waist. "You forgot that Matthew has as much right as you have. None of you have been specifically picked to be first in line to the throne."

Almost simultaneously, every pair of eyes in the room shifted to the forgotten blonde figure that had been crouching beside Arthur, gentle hands ensuring that the blanket he'd placed around the green-eyed slave covered his nude form modestly.

"E-eh?" Prince Matthew looked up and was nearly overwhelmed by the staring and the _messages_ their eyes were conveying. Grandfather was clearly ordering him to cooperate with him. But Matthew had ill thoughts of the man who was his mother's father. He'd never felt that the Duke loved him at all. Between him and Alfred, his infuriating, well-meaning twin…

"I would gladly give up my rights to the throne to Alfred," Prince Matthew voiced his allegiance confidently, unwaveringly. His stand had always been clear. He would stand by his brother to his death. "…but before I do, I'd like to ask Arthur for his opinions." He turned to his former tutor and offered him his hand.

* * *

><p>Once the princes found lovely and virtuous partners, fathered sons and daughters whom they would be role models for and didn't need him anymore, Arthur planned to commit suicide.<p>

Though Arthur had managed to carve pockets of heaven for himself (and he was grateful for them and he cherished them very much), the life of a slave was bleak and filled with hardships. When he looked ahead, Arthur only saw days of pain and exertions in aging. There was no future for him.

He would be leaving Xin behind, but he was sure that she wouldn't begrudge him for his decision. She understood his misery.

Alfred's preposition threw everything out of the window.

Arthur stared into the boy's violet blue eyes and his soft, reassuring gaze, before he accepted his hand and smiled at him with true gratitude. In spite of being in the thick of the issue, Prince Matthew seemed to be the only person who was concerned with what Arthur had to say. In the ten years Arthur had known Prince Matthew, the slave had no doubt he had the purest of hearts, closest to an angel.

"Prince Alfred," Arthur arranged the blanket around himself and knelt in front of the young man – for that's who he was, now, an adult with gorgeous, chiseled features and strength in his limbs, even when the hope in his blue eyes made him young and painfully, painfully bright. Arthur bowed his head. "Thank you very much for your good intention, Your Highness," he heard the Prince exhale in a rush a breath, "but-"

(_Arthur didn't want Prince Alfred to be bound to him any stronger than what they have now_.)

"No-!"

"Alfred!" Matthew snapped at his twin sharply to prevent him from interrupting.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Your Highness, I have neither the influence of my House nor the chastity of my own body, let alone exceptional beauty. I have nothing to offer to you. Hence I cannot be your consort." He finished and bowed his head.

"B-but-" Prince Alfred dropped to his knees and wrapped the figure in the blanket in his arms, "I don't care about those things!"

"But that slave is absolutely right, grandson," The Duke rubbed his chin and sneered. "Well, at least he's smart enough to know that!" He laughed derisively, and his puppets followed him in a chorus.

Prince Alfred glared at the older man in repugnance, the desire to renounce his blood relation to the Regent boiling in his blood. "You-"

"In any case," Duke Orleans placed his hands on his waist. "I won't hand the throne to you." He looked down and declared smugly.

The princes stared disbelievingly. "You can't do this," the older twin rebutted firmly, but shadows of doubt were creeping into his expression.

"I sure can," the Duke remarked silkily as he made his way back to his chair and crossed his legs languidly and reclined on the padding of the divan. "As long as you can't secure majority votes from the parliament [4], I can and I will remain Regent. And as Regent, I forbid you to marry that lowlife. Now, shoo." He waved his hands dismissively and the soldiers guarding his door began to approach the princes.

Prince Alfred clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. "We can escort ourselves out!" he barked at the burly men and rose to his feet with dignity, his hand refusing to let go of the precious bundle in his arms. Prince Matthew followed his brother loyally as they exited.

Alfred wouldn't let his grandfather stop him from getting what he wanted. He vowed.

And that was how the rally for support began.

TBC

* * *

><p>Please, please review.<p>

A/N:

1. I wanted to write 'truckloads' but this AU most probably doesn't have automobile eh.

2. Yesss! Cuba makes a cameo! :)

3. The lipstick is inspired by http: / usxuk . livejournal . com / 1521474 . html?view=16586818#t16586818. I don't mean to associate the fanart artist's idea with negativity, but God, if the look wasn't hot and I wasn't itching to just write it!

4. Yes, the setting follows constitutional monarchy. The monarchy still has legislative power, but it's shared with the parliament. There are things that can only be passed with the resolution of the parliament. One of them is the appointment of the Head of State. Kind of like company law, where power is divided between members of the company and the board of directors (not like today's monarchs which hold mostly ceremonial powers). The monarchs are also subject to law.


	14. Chapter 2,10: Because I Adore You So

Part 2.10: (you made me sick) Because I Adore You So

Birds were singing outside the window.

Cool breeze blew against his face when he opened the sill, the air fresh with morning's dew, golden rays from the big vermillion blob slowly rising from the horizon over green rolling hills warming his skin. The sky was a cacophony of indigo, amber and pale blue as night faded away. It was a gorgeous morning. His lips curved to a smile.

"I-I'm telling you I'm only here for the free food!"

Roderich Edelstein turned away from the sight of his father's lands to the blonde figure at his dining table, slender hands cutting up thin slices of ham and cheese deftly. His staring made patches of red appear on Vash Zwingli's cheeks. "What are you looking at!" he snapped and presented the master of the mansion with a fiery green glare.

"Brother," his beloved adopted sister, Lilli Zwingli, admonished him in a soft voice. "I don't think Roderich means anything, brother."

"Roderich?" he turned to her. "Since when are you on such friendly terms with him-" his voice rose reflexively.

"Shush," Roderich whispered softly as he walked to the dining table and took his seat next to the green-eyed male. "We're neighbours. Isn't it normal for neighbours to be friendly with one another?" he asked calmly as he poured himself some tea and picked some toasts.

"Not with you!" Vash harrumphed and turned his face away.

"After so long, you still don't like me?" Roderich sighed as he lowered his cup and touched the other male's inner wrist with his gloved hand, fingertips stroking the patch of skin peeking out between the sleeve of his dark green robe and his black leather glove. Violet eyes watched raptly as the blush on Vash's cheeks turned darker. [1]

They had been dancing around each other like this for years, with flirtatious gazes and lingering touches that were slightly longer than what was strictly appropriate. They could have chosen to marry after Roderich was widowed, but House Edelstein needed the protection of a more powerful House now [2], and Vash loved his sister too dearly. Perhaps what they had now was what was best for them.

"Milord," someone coughed softly from across the room and Roderich looked up to see a woman with long brown wavy hair in a black and pink baggy dress, colourful patterns of flowers embroidered to her gown with ribbons lining the hems, standing by the doorway with a letter in her hand. She smiled at him before approaching the crowd in the dining table. "Something came for you," she handed him the letter.

Roderich eyed the Bonnefoy Dynasty emblem on the seal warily before he opened the envelope. Vash watched the other lord warily as violet eyes moved across the paper quickly, while Lilli greeted the other lady and engaged her in an idle chatter. "What does it say?" Vash eventually asked.

"We're requested to go back to the Capital," the bespectacled noble remarked absently as he crossed his legs and raised the letter higher to catch the light from the window. "Something is taking up the court in a storm."

The ladies stopped talking and began to listen.

"Tell me something new," Vash snorted and speared his omelet with his fork.

Roderich pushed his spectacle up the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "It seems that we really do need to depart to the Capital," he shoved the plate away and placed the letter in its place.

"Hey-" Vash frowned.

"Please read it first," Roderich stood and interrupted with a serious expression on his face.

Vash sighed and quickly scanned the text on the parchment. He froze. "He…"

Lord Edelstein nodded, bent forward and fingered the signature at the end of the page.

"The little rose needs us."

* * *

><p>"<em>Your Highness, it's not wise to make enemies with Your Grace," Arthur attempted to persuade Prince Alfred once they were in the safety of his private chambers.<em>

_The glare the monarch directed toward him was watery and blue, so very blue and young. "So you would rather have me __**knowingly **__let them…let them hurt you and touch you and-" his pitch rose increasingly till his voice croaked and he sobbed, the tears clouding his eyes finally falling freely to his cheeks and drenching his collar. "…Do you think so lowly of me? Do you think I'm that cruel?"_

"_No!" Arthur quickly enveloped the younger, bigger blonde in his arms and patted his hair soothingly. "It's not about that. There are other ways to do this…marrying me and going against the incumbent sovereign is very extreme. I really, really don't have anything to offer to you, Prince Alfred…"_

"_I don't care about that!" the arms that held onto Arthur tightly were shaking. "How could you have told me to ignore you?" Prince Alfred pressed his nose to the slave's neck, moist breath from his lips hitting the hideous mark Alfred __**hated **__like nothing else on earth._

"_Your Highness-"_

"_It's Alfred," he interrupted, "just Alfred. Until I can marry you, stay by my side. As a personal aide, an advisor, anything! Just…" His fingers dug into Arthur's sides, short nails pressing crescent marks to his skin through the thin blanket._

"_Stay with me."_

* * *

><p><em>Prince Alfred had him given a room.<em>

_Arthur stared at the place in wonder and incredulity, his hand touching the wooden surface of the nightstand and the linen in his single bed absently. The room wasn't even half the size of a normal guest room, but it was something solely just for Arthur. He couldn't believe it._

"_Excuse me," someone knocked his door, "I'm here to deliver the clothes His Highness had commanded me to bring."_

"_Ah," Arthur spied the pajama robe peeking out of the closet and quickly divested his blanket to don the slightly more decent garment. "Come in."_

_He was surprised to see Xin when he opened the door. The girl had a set of sensible starched cotton shirt and brown robes in her hands._

"_I heard…some things," Xin spoke and Arthur looked up to see her face. She'd shed the indifference that had normally taken up residence there and let concern dominate her expression. "Arthur, what have you gotten into…?" her mouth moved infinitesimally, her dark eyes wide and her fingers trembling. "…what will happen to you?"_

_Arthur reached out to grasp her hands, letting the clothes drop to the floor as they became too unsteady to carry them. "I…I don't know," he held on to them as his own limbs began to shook. "I…I don't w-want-" his teeth chattered too much for him to finish his sentence._

"_Shush," the door closed behind her as she entered the chamber and enclosed his fingers in her hands. "I'll support you. You know I will."_

_They kneeled on the floor and held hands as Arthur finally, finally told her his story._

* * *

><p>Roderich stepped out of his carriage and stared at the Castle he'd spent at least a third of his life in. 'How nostalgic,' he sighed inwardly.<p>

Roderich didn't really hate the life he'd led as a flower. In fact, he'd experienced the most peaceful years of his life then. Francis had many others to amuse him; Roderich could just fade to the background in the harem and compose music almost every day. Others might have begrudged the Emperor for suddenly asking their hands in marriage without considering that they had already made plans with their lives. But to Roderich, who had gone through _too many_ engagements in his youth (because his father always wanted him to be associated with better, more powerful Houses), Francis' offer was almost a blessing. [3]

"Lord Edelstein," someone walked down the stairs of the porch to welcome him. "Thank you so much for coming."

The former flower turned and was surprised at what he saw.

"…Arthur." His eyes widened behind his lenses as he scanned his former student from head to toe. "…what have happened to you?" he asked as he placed his suitcase on the floor and reached out to touch the high, starched collar of Arthur's white shirt, gloved fingers ghosting over the thick cotton of the brown vest. Last time Roderich checked, this wasn't the uniform assigned to slaves. The quality of the fabric was too good.

Arthur returned his former tutor with a wan smile. God, he had missed the older begetter. "We shall catch up once I have guided you to your quarters," he gestured with one hand and the pageboys waiting by his side proceeded to Roderich's carriage to start transporting his luggage.

Meanwhile, another figure emerged from the carriage. She was a beautiful woman with her brown hair tied to a bun with a flower pin, her hands holding the tresses of her moss green gown as she stepped down to the ground. Roderich quickly went to her side and assisted her.

"Arthur," they walked up the stairs together and Roderich introduced her. "This is Elizaveta Edelstein. She is my wife."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," she had the friendliest of smile on her face before she curtsied.

Arthur blinked and nearly forgot to bow back in greeting, "likewise, Lady Edelstein." When he looked at Roderich, the question 'you remarried?' was clear in Arthur's eyes.

"Thank you so much for inviting us here!" the brunette remarked cheerfully. "You're the sender of the letter, right? Are you Roderich's friend?"

"Um…" There was silence for a total of three seconds as Arthur's eyes flickered to Roderich's. "To my guest chamber," the musician coughed, his hand kept around his wife's. "We have a lot to explain to each other it seemed."

"Here you go," Arthur turned the knob and held the door open for his two guests. "I'm sorry the chamber is small. I couldn't manage to secure better places."

"It doesn't matter," Roderich assured as he entered the room and made a beeline to the chair placed around a small wooden table at the centre. "After the princes' coming of age ceremony, the Castle is expected to be full. I understand." He pulled the chair back for his wife before taking a seat.

Arthur stood in the doorway hesitantly. "Shall I let you have a rest first?"

"We had a good nap in an inn at the outskirts of the Capital yesterday," Lady Edelstein took the liberty to inform Arthur. "We are still energized, right, milord?"

"Yes," Roderich gestured at the remaining seat. "I'd rather we get right down into it. Vash won't arrive here until next week, we shouldn't wait for him. We need to start planning very soon, I think."

"Lord Zwingli is coming?" Arthur was pleasantly surprised and happy that the two nobles still considered him as a friend and came to his rescue when requested.

"Definitely," Roderich smiled at Arthur. "He just needs more time in arranging the protection of his sister while he's away from his mansion."

"I see," Arthur closed the door carefully and approached his guests slowly. The trio stared at each other for a whole as Arthur tried to gather his wits.

"…Would you want me to take my leave, milord?" Lady Edelstein offered as she picked up his reluctance.

Arthur shook his head slowly. "Please just refer to me as 'Arthur,'" he told the brunette, "…may I know which House you were born in, milady?"

"Hedervary," she answered him as she nodded.

The House with the strongest army in the southwestern part of the Empire, Arthur recalled. That explained Lord Edelstein's remarriage. "I hope you would stay," Arthur requested politely, "I just…need some time to arrange my words. Perhaps we should order for some tea?" he shifted his eyes to Xin, who had taken to accompanying him as much as she could with her other duties still in place. The Oriental girl nodded and proceeded to the kitchen.

Arthur explained the situation to the Edelsteins as clinically as possible, detached of any emotion and glossing over gruesome details. Lady Edelstein's progressively teary and sparkling eyes as he narrated his history weren't making him comfortable, though he supposed it was good he'd won her (and by extension, her House?) by sympathy. "So that's the gist of it," Arthur ended.

"I see," Roderich brought his hands together and leaned his chin on his fists. "…and where is the son in concern?"

"Prince Alfred is still attending lessons and hosting sports and tea sessions with his suitors," Arthur supplied. "He has not made his intention…publicly known," Arthur had persuaded him to do as much, anyways. He needed advice from Lord Edelstein, who surely would know more about lobbying than the Princes and Arthur.

"That's a good move. There's no point declaring war against Duke Orleans so soon when we haven't secured the support of Houses yet," Roderich still looked displeased, however. "Getting close to the sons and daughters is one step, of course," he sighed, "but they're not the ones in power to decide who their Houses are going to pledge allegiance to. Not to mention that certain Houses are under the banner of other more influential Houses."

"…how do we best go about doing this?" Arthur leaned forward on his chair.

"Private conversations," it was Lady Edelstein who provided the suggestion. Perhaps this was because ladies were more adept at making personal connections through conversations.

"That can work," Roderich commented. "We could construct a contract with slightly open clauses that we can bring to seal the deal in the later part of the conversation. When is the earliest time we could meet His Highness?"

"Tonight or tomorrow night," Prince Alfred liked to spare half an hour every day to chat with Arthur. He figured he could use the time to settle the contract.

"Then we should start drafting now," Lord Edelstein took off his robe, which was promptly taken by his wife. He murmured a thank you before rolling his sleeves. "May I have a quill and parchment?"

The three of them worked on the wordings and terms of the contract for hours, still the sun was high in the sky and drooped low again close to the horizon.

"Nnghh," Roderich put down the quill and stretched while Lady Edelstein checked the draft one last time. "Looks like we're done!" she grinned. Both her husband's and Arthur's hands were stained with ink and balls of balled up parchment of erroneous drafts were lying around the floor. "Now, darling," she folded the completed drafts carefully and placed a paper weight on them. "I think you should walk around while I unpack our luggage."

"All right," Roderich looked thoughtful as he used his handkerchief to clean his hands. "I'd like to go to the piano room, actually." There was a small smile on his face as he thought of the place that used to be his secret haven. "It's nearby, isn't it?"

"Yes," Arthur followed the other former flower as he exited the bedchamber and they walked side by side along the corridor. "The piano room's never been renovated since before you left."

"I see," they arrived in no time and Roderich turned the knob with anticipation. He took a second to marvel the beauty of the grand piano at the centre of the room, white with gold trimmings that shone when the rays of the dying sun was filtered through the glasses of the windows. Majestic paintings and old classical scores were hung on the walls, above the glass casings where violins, flutes and other beloved instruments of deceased monarchs and flowers were displayed. There had always been an aura of sacredness in the room even before he departed, and Roderich was glad that it was maintained.

"How nostalgic," Roderich trailed his fingers over the crispy black and white keys before finally pressing on an accord. The tune the piano produced was still clear as a bell. "What a beautiful sound."

"Yes," Arthur spoke as he stood behind the stool the musician was settling himself in. "I always feel…serene here."

Roderich stared at his former tutor, at the hardened lines around his face, the age and weariness in his eyes, and mourned for the loss of the fire he'd seen in Arthur's youth. "…I really haven't seen you in a long time," he reached out to touch the other's face with his gloved hand. "I miss you."

"Me too," Arthur repositioned himself so that the older begetter didn't have to twist his body to hold him, "I'm truly grateful that you're willing to come here to advise us, milord. Otherwise-"

"Call me Roderich, Arthur," Roderich sighed, "after all, you may be our future Empress Consort," the word 'again' was loud in the silence. "…It's funny how you're going back to square one. Almost," the former flower dropped his hand and started going to the violins and cellos in the display.

"I don't see it that way," Arthur smiled ruefully and followed Duke Edelstein. He stared at the wooden string instruments and traced their shape with his fingers pressing against the glass. "I haven't heard you play this in a long time."

"Do you want me to?" Roderich turned to him, one hand proceeding to unlatch the opening of the glass case. When Arthur looked alarmed, he chuckled. "Don't worry. The reason these things are kept here and maintained regularly is for visitors to use them. Otherwise there won't be any point conserving them, right?" Roderich mentioned as he plucked out one of the violins and started tuning the strings. "And you can sing to my accompaniment."

"But I haven't practiced in ages!" Arthur shook his head vehemently. "It's going to sound horrible!"

"What's the harm of practicing again? But anyways," Roderich slowly secured it between his chin and his left shoulder, the curve of the polished wood perfectly fitting his neck. "You don't need to sing if you don't want to. Hallelujah?"

"Thank you so much," Arthur smiled.

The instrument sang beautifully in the musician's hands. Arthur let the harmonious, high-pitched notes wash over him like waves, feeling completely at peace, like coming home after a long arduous journey. He closed his eyes, his brains reflexively remembering the lyrics of the song he used to practice quite often in the past.

Arthur sucked a deep breath. And released his voice.

* * *

><p>"And so about Lady Neville-"<p>

The Lady who had been gossiping non-stop for the past twenty minutes (Alfred had been itching to slap her mouth shut for the past fifteen minutes, but Matthew's holding on to both his hands and smiling plastically at her) finally halted. "What's that sound?"

Everyone in the gathering of almost twenty suitors and young male nobles who'd like to befriend the Princes began to look around.

"This place is close to the piano room, right?" a petite lady who liked to wear an indigo hat with pink flowers adorning the rim chimed [4]. "Someone must be singing there, with violin accompaniment."

'Show off,' some of them murmured under their breaths, 'Must be someone who wants to catch the Princes' attention without going through the 'procedure'.' They giggled.

Matthew closed his eyes as he listened closely. "The song sounded very melancholic," he commented wistfully. There was something profound and poignant in the voice that seemed to touch his soul, something the musician encountered in his or her life that was translated to the piece.

"Shall we take a look?" Prince Alfred was only glad to have an excuse to get away from the chattering ladies. Before others could stop him, he'd already walked out of the parlour, and the rest scrambled to follow him. Prince Alfred opened the door thoughtlessly, thinking he would just applaud the performer and leave his numerous annoying suitors.

He'd never guessed that Arthur was the soloist (he didn't even remember the begetter could sing). The peace and pleasure on his face as his lips moved around the words and poured his soul to the tunes he was producing, his chest rising and falling to the soft inhales between the lyrics, the sunrays that were bathing his lean, gracefully twisting figure (_like it's a dance_) in golden light and dark shadows – what Alfred saw made his mouth dry. He wanted to burn this image in his retina and capture this moment in a painting.

Seated close to the green-eyed blonde was a bespectacled brunet, whose torso was curled around a violin elegantly, deft fingers handling the large instrument with poise. The music he produced was so in tune with the violin, and he complemented Arthur easily, like a fish swimming in water. Even when the tempo changed or some of the notes were improvised, the brunet could cover the imperfections effortlessly and made them natural. For one moment, Arthur opened his eyes and smiled at the same time the violinist smiled at his partner. There appeared to be a strong connection between them.

They sounded like they'd been playing duet together for a long, _long_ time.

When the song ended in a crescendo, everyone seemed too stunned to even move.

Arthur kept one hand on his diaphragm while his other hand hung limply at his side. "That…felt…" his voice was breathless.

"Liberating?" the brunet's voice was equally soft.

Arthur gave him a small nod and a serene smile. "I didn't lose the skill it seems," he sounded really glad.

"I told you so," the older musician nodded too. "Singing is an inherent talent. Even if you don't practice, you won't lose it." [5]

"Feels like old times," Arthur sighed.

The duo didn't seem like they noticed they had an audience.

Prince Matthew was the first to break the silence with applause. "What an inspiring music, Duke Edelstein!" he complimented in delight. "Once again let me use this chance to thank you for having me in your House for fostering. My ears were used to such a fine treat; I've come to miss your music in this Castle." He walked towards the older royalty with his hand extended.

"Your Highness," the two finally turned to the door and noticed that they'd been watched. Duke Edelstein smiled at his former ward, disentangled himself from his instrument, stood up and shook the hand he'd offered. "I feel honoured to be chosen to host you. The pleasure is all mine."

"Alfred," Prince Matthew turned to his sibling, "you remember the Edelweiss, don't you?"

Prince Alfred's blinked. A flashback to the days leading to Arthur's execution and the grown up who had been there to plan for Arthur's salvation (_and sent him straight to another hell_) with him hit him out of his reverie, even if the strange bitterness piling in his gut remained. "Ah, Duke Edelstein!" the blue-eyed blonde approached him with open arms. "Welcome back!"

"Thank you, Prince Alfred," the Duke bowed slightly. "You have really grown to a handsome young man."

"You spoil me with your compliment," Alfred replied with pleasantries.

"I have heard about the circumstances and your intentions," finally, something of substance was talked about. "I'm very happy that I've been invited here, Your Highness."

Prince Alfred shifted his gaze to Arthur sharply. He'd never once expected that Arthur would rope in other people when he'd been so adamant on keeping Alfred's resistance quiet. Duke Edelstein was smart, having his House's support would make him stronger and involving him in Alfred's rally was a clever move, but somehow, the thought of it _burned_.

"We are truly really glad to have you here." Alfred didn't let it show. "I can't wait to catch up with you."

(And later on, when they indeed had a discussion and finalized their strategies, Prince Alfred recognised Duke Edelstein's formidability, but the fact that Arthur trusted the former Edelweiss so much, even if Duke Edelstein had been practically the person who had sent him into slavery, hurt.)

* * *

><p>"So the rumours are true," the Marquis, who was in his early thirties and had short, spiky blonde hair, retorted as he read the contract in his hands.<p>

Arthur didn't budge. "I'm not sure what rumour you have heard of, milord."

This was closest to the tenth time Arthur attempted to secure the House representative's allegiance through negotiation, and it hadn't been working out. The nobles in the court had been too strongly 'bought' by Duke Orleans. Some were concerned by the lack of evidences of the Prince's intention, while the Princes couldn't declare a fight against his grandfather in ascending to the throne without sufficient support: a chicken and egg issue.

"'…the signor to be granted whatever he desires, within the bounds of agreement between both Prince Alfred Franklin Jones Bonnefoy and the signor…'" he read a term within the contract and raised an eyebrow. "Does it mean I can be Prime Minister?"

"That depends on the outcome of the negotiation with His Highness," Arthur replied with a poker face.

"…there're too many uncertainties," the Marquis put down the paper. "I'm not sure…I think I need more _persuasion_."

The tone the word was spoken in was too low and deliberate.

Arthur froze. "I could arrange a meeting between milord and His Highness-"

"I would attend," the aristocrat straightened up in his seat, "only after you have _convinced_ me."

Arthur tensed and fixed his gaze on his shoes.

"You know what would happen to me," the Marquis sighed, "if I sign this contract to agree to start negotiations with His Highness, and His Grace Duke Orleans discovered that? I'm putting myself into so much risk here." He settled against the padding of his chairs and spread his legs. "Can't you make a small sacrifice?"

Arthur clenched his fists and closed his eyes shut while the other person in the room tapped his fingers impatiently. An eternity seemed to pass before a sigh left the Marquis' lips. "So unwilling to cooperate this early in the negotiation-"

"Wait," Arthur gasped.

He dropped to his knees.

* * *

><p>"Prince Matthew!"<p>

The blonde turned around to see who had called him. And winced. "Carlos…"

"Hey, you remember to call me that!" the tanned, burly man grinned positively at him as he caught up. "Hey, man, how are you doing?"

"…Listen, Carlos, I'm sorry," the two retreated to the quieter part of the corridor and Matthew lowered his voice. "I'm sorry I left you there when we went to peep on the private show…"

"No big deal!" the good-natured Southerner accepted the apology before scratching the back of his braided dark hair. "I knew how to sneak out eventually. But I'm kind of confused. I mean, what exactly happened there? Why did that shitty guy of a sibling you have get so angry? I mean, it's not illegal to get one's slave to provide his master sexual services right?"

Matthew shuffled his feet. "That particular slave…Arthur, he's kind of very important to us. He used to be our tutor. He was once our stepmother…and Alfred…I think he's very much in love with Arthur."

Matthew pulled his new friend to his secluded corner in the library and took almost half an hour to explain the whole history. Carlos got puzzled several times in the chronology but ultimately he understood the big picture.

"Man, that's complicated," he continued scratching his head, a gesture Matthew'd noticed he tended to do when he was mentally overwhelmed. "I don't really want to help your brother, but if Arthur is also important to you, then I don't mind coming back home and petition other nobles and my Empress for support. She's been on the throne for almost ten years; maybe she remembers interacting with Arthur when he was Empress Consort."

Matthew was unbelievably happy. He threw his arms around Lord Castro and enveloped him in a tight hug. "Thank you so much, Carlos!"

Carlos blushed. "D-don't mention it," he returned the hug.

Prince Matthew didn't know it, but the man by his side was going to be his most loyal best friend in the future.

* * *

><p>The two parted when Lord Castro had to start preparing for his trip back home. Prince Matthew walked through the corridor in such light and joyful steps he almost missed the figure plodding through the carpet ahead of him with such gloom in his gait and his familiar thin shoulders.<p>

"Arthur."

The green-eyed blonde nearly jumped when he was addressed. "M-matthew?" he turned around.

The younger Prince smiled at Arthur before he picked up his pace to walk by his side. He finally noticed the desolation in his face, the downturn of his lips, the sallowness of his skin. "Are you all right?" Matthew queried with a frown between his brows.

Arthur's heart thumped. "W-what makes you think I'm not…?"

"Because you've been dragging one foot half a step behind…" comprehension began to dawn upon Matthew's expression. Arthur panicked inwardly for half a second before Matthew opened his mouth and asked, "…Alfred didn't really know how to do it, did he? Was he too clumsy in preparing you?"

"We haven't done anything," Arthur was too surprised he couldn't help but exclaim reflexively. And gasped.

"Then…" Matthew took a sharp breath and his gaze hardened. "Your lips," he narrowed his eyes, his irises dark with something akin to anger as he slowly walked toward the older blonde, trapping him against the wall. "They're chafed and swollen, aren't they?"

Arthur's hand flew to hide his mouth from view. He shook his head. "Matthew, please-"

"Why did you let them do these to you again?" The prince bared his teeth and hissed. "Did you enjoy having them treat you like that? That it?"

"No!" Arthur denied indignantly. He still had a shred of pride left in him.

"Then why!" Matthew nearly shouted. Fortunately, there was nobody in the corridor but them.

"T-that's…" Arthur threw his gaze to the floor and bent his head.

Matthew took a step back and sighed. It wasn't as though he didn't understand why. "…I won't tell Alfred this once."

"Matthew…" Arthur looked up to the Prince.

"But," Matthew wasn't finished yet. The lines of his face tensed again. "If you do this again, I'll definitely inform Alfred. You can't hide this from me. I can tell." He needn't remind Arthur that he'd caught Arthur involved in these twice.

"But-"

"Arthur," Matthew interrupted the older blonde this once. His severe expression suddenly switched to that of a smile, his eyes beseeching. "Alfred and I could solve this without your having to resort to that. You can trust us."

"…I know," Arthur bit his lip and clenched his fists. "But you've been facing so many difficulties…just for me…"

"Arthur," Matthew placed his hand on his former tutor's shoulder. His gaze held Arthur's when their eyes met. "Why do you think so lowly of yourself?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "I…"

"Don't do this to yourself," Matthew spoke softly, "and don't do this to Alfred, too."

Arthur only realised the depth of the Prince's advice seven years later.

* * *

><p>"So what are the updates…?" Roderich began.<p>

Most participants of the private meeting in Prince Alfred's bedchamber sighed.

"Success rate's low," Lord Zwingli, who had finally arrived in the Castle and joined the effort to secure the representative's support, gritted his teeth. "We can promise nothing certain so they're not buying us. Duke Orleans' foothold is too strong."

Prince Matthew drooped. "Even when they're meeting Alfred and me, we can sense their distrust on our capabilities."

"There is a general sense of apathy from the nobles in the borders," Lady Edelstein updated, "there aren't many who reply to the letters we write, and those who do reply with rejections or indifference. For them, it doesn't matter much who's on the throne, and the status quo satisfies them."

Arthur kept quiet.

They sighed in unison one more time.

"What's this?" Prince Alfred slammed his fist on the table and glared. "Why are you guys giving up so soon?"

"We aren't," Roderich diverted the topic of the conversation. "We are thinking of alternative ways to win this fight. One of the main issues seems to be that the contract and the signature are inadequate to make the representatives feel secure enough to openly declare their allegiance on us, is that it?"

"That's right…" Prince Matthew could guess where the suggestion was heading and he didn't like it.

"Your Highnesses," the atmosphere of the room was so tense it could cut through a block of butter. "…offering your hand in marriage would signal your commitment to the Houses and make it attractive for them to support your ascending the throne," Lord Zwingli delivered the truth in the only fashion he knew how to: ruthlessly and blatantly.

Prince Alfred's expression darkened so much he looked _scary_. "…I'd rather not resort to it," with disgust dripping from his voice and murderous intention in his eyes, no one dared to continue with the topic.

Roderich sighed. "If rallying the Houses here doesn't work, we can take a two-pronged approach," he offered another solution "by getting the citizens and using foreign relations to pressurize the parliament into giving the throne to you."

The idea seemed to be accepted rather well by the rest.

"That sounds rather sensible," Vash inputted while Prince Matthew nodded enthusiastically. "Carlos from House Castro has agreed to help me rally support from the South's court!"

Prince Alfred's eye twitched. "That guy-"

Roderich interrupted something that could have triggered a nasty brawl between the twins with a cough. "We'll go along with this new strategy, then," he brought the focus back to the main crux of the meeting. "I have…personal connection with someone influential in House Wang from the East. I can secure a meeting with him by next month." [6]

He ended the meeting with a declaration. "I'd suggest you prepare for a trip to his Estate, Prince Alfred."

TBC

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><p>REVIEW PLEASE!<p>

A/N:

1. Have some AustriaxSwitzerland fanservice!

2. House Zwingli isn't of aristocracy but of scholars who tend to be administrator of the states.

3. Austria (the kingdom) had gone through many marriages in history. Even Hetalia canon mentioned this.

4. Czech cameo :p

5. I changed the scene from Arthur playing violin to singing, because people lose the skills to play musical instruments due to lack of practice. It's not like riding a bike.

6. Have some Yao's badassery in the next chappie! :D


	15. Chapter 2,11: To the Edge of the World

A/N: The title of the chapter is from a song again, Tetsukazu no Sekai by Tsubakiya Shijuusou. Ai wa zurai (Love is Painful) is also a good song.

**Part 2.11: Take Me to the Edge of the World, Where There's No One but Us (Dare mo inai Basho e, Watashi wo Tsuredashite)**

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><p>"Thank you for having us here, Lord Wang," Duke Edelstein started with a greeting.<p>

Wang Yao merely shrugged and crossed his legs. "Consider one of my debts to you repaid aru."

Prince Alfred stared at their host with fascination. He was the most petite begetter the blonde had ever seen, with pale, milky skin that seemed as smooth as the crimson brocaded silk that slid against it, midnight black long hair that cascaded down his neck and rested on his nape, the slit of his dark eyes that glowed amber in the lighting, and the poise in his slender form as his fingers, his pinky and ring fingers encased in bejeweled golden claws, curled underneath his chin. He had the confidence and the gracefulness of a cat, and the curve of his lips belayed a mysterious playfulness that allured Alfred…

"Why are you wearing those claws?" Alfred asked suddenly, effectively interrupting Roderich's proposal.

Wang Yao covered his red lips with one hand and chuckled. "Do you really want to know…?" he whispered huskily, his voice lyrical as he shot the young monarch a seductive half-lidded stare.

Alfred blushed and looked down at his lap, squirming in his seat as heat began to pool in his stomach. "…No, thanks."

"As I said," Roderich raised his voice in exasperation. "We would like to request for your support in His Highness' petition, and your influence in pushing for a trade embargo for agricultural produce, carpentry tools and-"

"Wait," Prince Alfred shot up straight in his seat. "_Trade embargo_? East is our largest supplier of coals! Not to mention potatoes and corn! We can't have a trade embargo-" he suddenly remembered the exact phrasing of the strategy they'd decided to adapt in that late night private meeting and froze. "…is this what you meant by saying, '_getting the citizens to pressurize the parliament'_to giving me the throne!"

Roderich turned to the Prince and fell silent for a while before he finally nodded. "We can spread rumours of corruption and inefficiencies of the current government and get the people in the Capital riot for the Regent to step down," he spoke quietly.

Prince Alfred clenched his fists. "How dare you-" he choked, his face turning red with rage, "How could you suggest something that would make my people suffer, and blame it on someone else when we're in fact the mastermind of such treachery-"

"Aiya," Yao reclined in his wide oriental sofa and fanned himself with a large feather fan. "You Westerners are very cunning aru," he smirked languidly.

"…Your Highness," Roderich kneeled in front of his young, idealistic monarch to quell his righteous temper. "We have tried other ways, but they're not working out. This trade embargo is a means to an end. You have to consider which is more important, the means," he looked up and pierced the young blonde with his intense violet eyes, "or the end," Roderich emphasized the last word.

"I," Prince Alfred was reminded of Arthur, back home, the person who'd become a husk of who he used to be, devoid of liveliness and any sort of self-esteem. He wanted to make him happy and show him that he was wonderful and deserved to be loved. Was his morality worth the price of Arthur's happiness? "I…"

Roderich sighed. "Lord Wang, would you be kind to give us some more time?"

Wang Yao presented them a dismissive shooing gesture. "Do whatever you want," his expression, however, turned to that of a Cheshire cat, "Just remember that the longer you stay here, the more you owe me."

"Good day, Lord Wang," Roderich bowed and towed his prince out of the gazebo with him.

* * *

><p>For the first time in his life, Alfred wasn't at peace with himself.<p>

Alfred couldn't stop brooding over his decision almost every minute of his waking hour. Even his sleep was plagued by nightmares of thin, gaunt people closing in around him, desperate for something, anything to eat and staring accusatorily at him like he was the devil, someone to blame for their suffering (_no they got it all wrong he's a hero_). Or of his Arthur, his sad, hopeless Arthur, with his head bowed in submission, shame and fear filling his eyes. Alfred woke up with a jolt in the middle of the night, the urge to bury his face in his hands and cry or to vomit so intense his chest heaved.

Alfred had taken to wandering the gardens in the afternoon. There was a secluded corner near the huge pond next to the terrace that had a rectangular space of boulders placed sporadically atop pale grey sands, circular rings surrounding the stones [1]. Alfred liked to stare at the big, colourful fishes meandering in the water, alone, and dozed off. He knew he was avoiding Roderich, who looked at him with impatience and _disappointment_ whenever they met in the dining hall, and he felt _awful_ for being so scared, unsure and indecisive about something that would lead to Arthur's happiness. Was his love for Arthur so small, so weak Alfred wasn't willing to sacrifice his moral?

Alfred was trapped so deep inside the maze of his mind he nearly jumped when something hit the back of his dangling legs. He looked down to find a wooden carriage-like contraption.

"A toy…?" he bent down to pick it up. The carriage was bigger than his hands. In wonder, he examined the mechanisms beneath the toy, which had been exposed to him when the toy had been knocked upside down by the collision. "What could this possibly do…?" he mumbled to himself as he moved the toy by the wheels backward. The carriage shot forward across the wooden terrace unexpectedly, as though there was an invisible force directing its movement. "Whoa!"

"I'm sorry to disturb you," someone voiced meekly behind him. Alfred turned around and found a slender figure clad in blue oriental robe, his neat, straight, pitch black hair framing his face like a sheet. Alfred couldn't see his face because his head was bowed. "I would like to have that back," he added, almost in a rush, before his socked feet moved quickly to the wooden toy in small steps.

"Wait!" Alfred reached out and caught the other's wrist as the stranger whizzed by, making him jolt from inertia and gasp in shock. Alfred didn't stop to think that perhaps, in the East, whose citizens were more reserved and respected the concept of 'personal space', what he'd done was downright inappropriate. The young Prince was just _desperate_ to have a company, someone who wouldn't look at him with disdain and judgment (like Lord Edelstein). "You're the owner of the toy, aren't you? Where did you buy it?"

Alfred watched as those pale, delicately curved earlobes jutting out from the curtain of smooth-looking black locks were tinged red, but still he didn't let go. "I made it myself," the other whispered.

"Wow!" Alfred moved closer to him, even when everything in his stance spoke of discomfort, the request to leave him alone loud in his silence. "That's amazing! You have to teach me!" Alfred chose to ignore it and placed himself in front of the stranger. Finally, the Prince was able to see his face.

And he liked what he saw.

"Eh, I," Alfred stared at those impenetrable dark, beady eyes shifted as the owner scrambled to piece his words together in his head and bit his full, pink, luscious lower lip in anxiety. Long, black eyelashes shivered against the curve of his smooth, milky cheeks when he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "…I shall abide by your request."

"That's awesome!" Alfred grinned widely. "Thanks!"

And that was how Alfred met Kiku Honda.

* * *

><p>Alfred managed to get Kiku to meet him every day. Once he could break past Kiku's initial resistance against strangers (through the right mix of persistence, of course, he couldn't push his new friend too much), the lithe Easterner was really, <em>really<em> fun to be with. He could be really passionate about the mechanics of his toys and he'd also introduced Alfred to the world of pictured storybooks. They were really fun, not childish at all. The adventures and heroics captured Alfred's interests and had him right there. And the games. Boy, could Kiku invent them!

"You look happy," the words were spoken flatly.

Alfred's fork clattered against his plate when his arm tensed. He drew a sharp breath. "…I am," the Prince remarked carefully as he looked up and eyed Lord Edelstein. He held his chopsticks and ate his dinner with impeccable manners, not a hair or a speck of crumbs out of place, but the lines of the older noble's face were taut and strained. "That's good to hear."

_Liar_. Alfred waited for the other shoe to drop.

"We've been here for over a week," the statement sounded totally neutral. "I thought you would be a little homesick by now."

Lord Edelstein and his upper crust speak, double meaning flawlessly seamed in between words. "I made a new friend," Alfred spoke the truth in his deviance.

(_The blatancy of Alfred's reply, and perhaps, the connotation he didn't mean to imply, made Lord Edelstein blink. He told himself the Prince probably didn't understand Roderich was referring to Arthur when he said 'homesick' and the announcement didn't mean that Alfred had replaced Arthur in his heart._)

"And who may that be?" The Duke feigned interest.

"His name is Kiku. Kiku Honda," Alfred didn't see the point of volunteering more information.

"A banner man of the Wangs, I see." The bespectacled former infante's eye twitched, the tiny bodily reaction belaying his frustration at the Prince's dilly-dallying and indecisiveness. "House Wang is really large. Other than Honda, Im and Nguyen are also banner men of the Wangs. Power struggles are very common. Even Lord Yao is not in control of the House."

'_And by staying here without promising him anything, we're worsening his position in this House_.' The words might not be spoken, but the reminder to not overstay their welcome was clearly inferred.

"I see," Alfred looked down at the delicious shrimp and minced meat dumplings he'd been happily chewing two minutes ago.

He'd lost his appetite.

* * *

><p>"You look unhappy, Alfred-sama," Kiku stated his observation when he met the foreign Prince, as scheduled. Initially, Kiku had found the golden-haired boy too aggressive. He'd only kept to his promise because Yao ni-ni told him not to displease the Westerner royalty, but he managed to warm up to his antics (and even found them endearing) eventually.<p>

The gorgeous Prince with wheat blonde locks and blue summer sky eyes nodded miserably before he buried his head in the space between his knees, which had been pressed close to his chest.

Kiku sat by his side on the terrace quietly and hesitated before finally laying a hand on his shoulder. Alfred's bright grin shone with the ferocity of a thousand suns and Kiku never realised how much those grins had warmed him and how devastating the world would be with its glaring absence until now. Alfred didn't suit moodiness.

Kiku very much would like to ask what happened and how he could help, but it wasn't his place to push Alfred to share with him (they'd just been friend for a few days. Does Alfred-sama even consider him a friend? Somehow the thought that the blonde didn't made his heart ache unpleasantly and Kiku didn't want to inquire that reaction so much-)

"Hey, Kiku," Alfred's voice snapped Kiku off his worries.

"Yes, Alfred-sama," Kiku shook his head to clear his thoughts and gave him his full attention.

Alfred paused for half a second before he proceeded. "Have you ever encountered a situation…where you want to achieve something…but in order to achieve it, you have to do terrible deeds? What would you do?"

Kiku blinked _what terrible deeds do you have to do Alfred-sama please don't stain your hands_ he stopped the train of dreadful assumptions and gave his advice to one of the vaguest question he'd received. "I would look for other means."

Alfred rose to his knees and shook his head strongly. "You don't understand," he looked upset and disappointed. Again, Kiku felt his heart ache when he saw the Prince's frown. "What if there are no other means."

"That's the thing, Alfred-sama," Kiku raised his voice for the first time since he'd met the royalty of his neighbouring Empire. He didn't want Alfred to think of him as unhelpful or worse yet, insincere. "In your mind you've already arrived to the resolve that you have no other means! You have closed yourself to other solutions that are possibly out there, just waiting for you to take."

Alfred stopped dead.

In that moment, he had a revelation.

Meanwhile, Kiku blushed when he'd realised he'd talked back to the Prince and cleared his throat. "In any case, you should take a moment to step back and consider other alternatives. We should be solution-oriented and figure the best means that would require the least-"

"You're right," Alfred interrupted Kiku's babbling by grabbing him on his shoulders. "You're absolutely right." Another solution had been there all along. He just refused to acknowledge it. But he couldn't keep a blind eye against it anymore.

Kiku watched as confidence and certainty, something Alfred hadn't had since he'd heard about the plans for trade embargo, entered the Prince's eyes again and transformed the lines of his face, his gait, the way he held his head higher. Kiku saw them right happening before his eyes, and he was _awed_.

"Thank you so much, Kiku," Prince Alfred spoke somberly and shot Kiku a direct, earnest gaze.

"A-ah, you're welcome," the strength of that gaze made Kiku's heart beat faster. He blushed and ducked his head to hide it from his new friend's sight. "I'm glad to be of help."

What Kiku didn't know was that unwittingly, he'd just changed the course his future. Completely.

TBC

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><p>If you appreciate what you have read, please tell the author that you do, and she has not just wasted his/her time. I don't care if you find my plight for reviews annoying. Reviews are important. Authors are not self-automated machines that churn out words. (even machines die without electricity)

Notes:

1. Sand/Rock/Zen Garden: http:/ en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Japanese_rock_garden


	16. Chapter 2,12: Boats and Birds

A/N: Anyone of you who have read the story in my LJ will notice that the beginning of this chapter has been modified. Actually, the version written in ff net is the most updated one.

* * *

><p>Part 2.12: Boats and Birds<p>

Alfred sat quietly in his usual spot, waiting for his new friend. He had a lot of questions to ask, especially now that he had made up his mind. If Alfred were to meet the calculative Eastern begetter once again to present him another proposal, he couldn't go to the meeting as unarmed as he'd been over a week ago. He needed some information.

The sound of footsteps originating from the other end of the corridor pulled Alfred out of his reverie. The Prince rose to his feet and turned with a smile ready on his face. "Kiku-"

The person who met his eyes were not the mild-mannered, round-cheeked Easterner Alfred had come to know, but a short-haired stranger in a dark green straight-cut Cheong Sam [1], his fringe falling to his spectacles. There was disdain in his dark eyes as he straightened his pose and raised his chin, managing to look down on Alfred even when he was shorter than the blonde. "Who are you?"

The stranger's companion, a teenage boy in a white robe with collars similar to what Kiku often wore, only with a pair of trousers and a blue vest, pointed at Alfred with his finger, which was completely covered by his long, long sleeve. "That's Yao-hyung's guest!" he spoke so enthusiastically, the errant curl on his bangs bobbing. "I've seen him around here since last week!"

The look that passed through the bespectacled Easterner's face at the mention of Yao's name belayed how much he resented the petite begetter. "The cheek of him," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "Who does he think he is, letting his guests stay so long?"

The energetic boy fumed. "Yao-hyung has a right to this house; the late Master Wang named him in his will!"

"No, that bitch is an outsider!" The bespectacled boy snapped, only to realize, belatedly, that Alfred was watching him. He coughed and lengthened his strides. "Hurry, Yong Soo!"

"Yes, Wang _shao ye_," the boy sulked as he followed.

_So Yao is not that well liked by members of his own House_, Alfred pondered as he internalized what he'd just stumbled upon. An_ outsider? What did he mean by that?_

"Ah, you've met Wang _shao ye._" The Prince nearly jumped in shock. He had completely missed the arrival of the person he was waiting for. "Kiku," Alfred exclaimed as he tried to calm his heart. "Who's that guy?" he pointed at the corner the two had disappeared to with his thumb.

"Wang _shao ye, _the late Master Wang's youngest son," Kiku cocked his head to the side, curious about Alfred's reaction, before he dismissed it. "He's an apprentice to the current Minister of Finance."

Alfred nodded in comprehension. The East's Minister of Finance, Trade or Economy always, always came from the House of Wang. Without fail.

Alfred and Kiku proceeded to sit on the smooth, round stones at the periphery of the pond they had often visited in the past few days, lounging quietly as golden fishes swam beneath the calm surface of the pond, their scales reflecting the sunlight.

"Hey, Kiku."

"Yes, Alfred-sama."

Many conversations between them started this way. Alfred'd lost count.

"…What do you know about Wang Yao?"

Kiku was quiet for a long, long time. If Alfred knew Kiku was going to stop dead he wouldn't have asked the question without any preamble. So Kiku and Yao had a history. Did Kiku dislike Yao too? Was Alfred treading unchartered territories?

Just as Alfred was about to call it quits, Kiku began, "Yao ni-ni was the late Master Wang's last mistress. Master Wang hadn't married anyone since losing his beloved wife, Wang Zhi Yin, over a decade ago. In fact, he'd banished his other wives. Everyone had been surprised."

_So that's why that guy called Yao an outsider…_ Alfred would never have guessed. _No wonder Duke Edelstein implied that Yao's position in House Wang is precarious._ Alfred hesitated before he asked his next question. "…What do you feel about Yao?"

Silence filled the air once more. When Alfred turned to his companion, he was concerned to find that the lithe Easterner was still as a statue. Alfred reached out to touch his shoulder. "Kiku-"

"I'm grateful to Yao ni-ni." Kiku stared unfocusedly at the surface of the pond as he answered, "Yao ni-ni has taken care of me since my own mother died long, long ago."

"But others in this House don't feel the same way, do they?" Alfred ploughed on guiltily. He needed to confirm this.

"Many are unhappy that Yao ni-ni had risen in power," Kiku agreed wanly. "And they've done some…terrible things. But Yao ni-ni really doesn't deserve…" Kiku, who'd never showed much emotion, began to shake, his brows creasing on his face as he shook his head.

"Shush," Alfred wrapped his arms around Kiku's shoulder and let him press his face to his neck. "I understand. I'm sorry for making you upset," he whispered soothingly as they rocked back and forth.

"Ah, no, Alfred-sama, how embarrassing-" Kiku's face burned in shame at his (perceived) outrageous display of emotion and he struggled to get out of the embrace, but the foreign Prince refused to let his friend go.

"Not embarrassing," Alfred let go of Kiku only so that he could look at his face, and smiled gently. "Thank you so much for sharing these."

Kiku took a sharp breath at the heart-stopping smile and gulped. '_What's happening?'_ Kiku asked himself, '_You like Mei, don't you?'_The Easterner conjured the image of his sweet relative in his mind, with long locks of dark brown hair framing her lovely heart-shaped face, her round, long lashed eyes staring at him adoringly and her precious smile directed at him. Thinking of her brought the familiar breathlessness in his chest and the pounding of his aching heart (for he was just a banner man and she his lady-)

Yet, Kiku could feel that he was falling, falling for this handsome, foreign royalty who had yielded power and confidence as easily as he breathed.

And it was _dangerous_.

* * *

><p>"So," Wang Yao began as he seated himself on the throne-like elongated oriental chair at the end of the living room and crossed his thin legs, the movement shifting the fabric of his brocaded golden low-collared robes over his knees. The dangling golden trinkets in his hair swayed distractingly as he moved. He took the cup of tea one of his maids had offered him and blew the surface delicately, rouged lips puckered over buds of chrysanthemums bobbing on amber liquid. Strands of black locks fell to his dark amber eyes and he swatted it back with an elegant flick of his clawed fingers. Alfred wrenched his eyes away from the dance-like motions of the begetter when Wang Yao continued with a knowing smirk on his remarkable face. "I heard that you've made a decision."<p>

Next to Prince Alfred, Roderich shifted uncomfortably in his seat. To be honest, he'd been pleasantly surprised that barely half a day after he'd reminded his Prince to snap out of his bubble in politely-worded scolding, Alfred requested an audience with Lord Yao. Roderich had abided unquestioningly, but now that he thought about it, he should have inquired Prince Alfred further about his plans. He'd assumed that the blue-eyed blonde had agreed to go along with their original plan, but looking at the additional participant Alfred'd dragged into the meeting with him, that did not seem to be the case.

"Yes," Alfred took a deep breath to calm himself (Wang Yao had that effect on him sometimes) before stating, in a firm tone, "I have decided that I would like to take a loan from you."

Roderich inhaled sharply. Wang Yao raised an eyebrow, while Kiku Honda, who had been looking down at the floor suppressing his puzzlement, turned his head and stared at the foreign monarch with wide eyes. _Loan? That doesn't make sense._ The trio thought along the same line.

"I would like to take a loan from you," Alfred repeated resolutely, as he sensed oppositions building inside Duke Edelstein's mind, (or worse yet, derision for his youth). "And I would repay the loan…in the gold and riches I would be able to provide you as Emperor in the future."

Wang Yao merely put down his cup and hid his chuckle behind a dainty hand and his golden claws. "You are confident, aren't you?" he mused and shook his head. "How would I know that you would use the money to rally the support of your court, keep to your promise and pay your loans, with interests," he emphasized on the last word, "or spend them frivolously and cheat me? I've experienced enough to know that Honour can't be trusted." For a second, the curve of his red, red lips was almost wry. It disappeared in a blink of an eye.

"Of course, your concern is completely valid," Alfred nodded and leaned forward in his seat, his hands placed flatly atop the table. He rose to his feet and paused for a second, sky blue eyes searching for his new friend's (anxious) dark brown. Alfred shot Kiku a small smile before he turned back to Wang Yao and stared straight into his eyes. "Hence, as a guarantee, I am offering my hand in marriage," he spoke earnestly, "to Honda Kiku, and to you."

* * *

><p>When Kiku met Alfred for their afternoon chat, the former had been really surprised to see the Prince decked in full royal regalia, the silver of his necklace accentuated by the dark blue of his robes and the silver threads of the double stitching of the dark maroon linings of his hems. Alfred was dressed to impress, and Kiku was indeed, impressed. "What's the occasion?" Kiku managed to ask after overcoming his tongue's sudden inability to move.<p>

Alfred shot his friend a muted, mature smile. "Just come with me," he stated as his fingers curled around Kiku's wrist.

All along, as the blonde brought him to see Yao ni-ni with the bespectacled brunet Kiku'd assumed was Prince Alfred's guardian, Kiku sat quietly and held his questions as the negotiation proceeded. He was sure Alfred wouldn't bring him there for no reasons (actually that sounded like what the blonde could do; he was random like that-)

"…I am offering my hand in marriage," Alfred's strong and firm voice cut through the musings in Kiku's mind, and just as Kiku felt his heart dropping to his stomach, loud noises of '_What? When? Who? Yao ni-ni?_' buzzing in his head as he blinked the sudden sting in his eyes, the foreign Prince ended his proposal, "to Honda Kiku, and you."

_Me? _Kiku's head shot up when he heard his name, wide eyes staring at the handsome young man standing confidently at the centre of the room, his pearly white teeth hidden beneath the sure line of his lips and his bright summer eyes _so sure_ of what he wanted. For a moment, Kiku wondered what he did to warrant the desire of this desirable man, before the shock caught up with him. His eyes searched for the comfortable figure of the begetter'd who raised him, and Kiku was comforted by the disbelief that was displayed apparently on Yao ni-ni's normally composed face.

"Me," the petite, feminine figure spoke, his voice filled with incredulity. "…It is interesting of you to have chosen me, young man," he added challengingly, his dark catlike amber eyes narrowing as they scrutinized his blonde guest.

"I know of your circumstance," Alfred merely remarked, his gaze unwavering. "It would be safer for you to live in my Castle rather than sticking around and waiting for the balance of power to be tipped off your favours, no?"

At this, Yao ni-ni reacted with a flinch and an indignant glare sent the bespectacled brunet's way. Kiku, on the other hand, bit his lower lip and fought the urge to fidget. No wonder Alfred had asked him about Yao ni-ni. _This is only to Yao ni-ni's advantage_, Kiku convinced himself, _what you did wasn't wrong._

For a moment, the room was filled with silence so palpable one could hear the proverbial pin drop, before a laughter suddenly erupted from Yao ni-ni's lips. He covered it with his sleeve and everyone waited for the expression of derisive amusement ended.

"So that 'loan' you're talking about," Yao ni-ni stated as he shook his head and reached for his tea again, "It is our dowry, isn't it?"

Alfred nodded. "That is right."

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Yao ni-ni sighed something that sounded like, "Westerners," under his breath, before he made his bargain. "Is one of us going to be your Empress Consort?"

Something flickered in Prince Alfred's previously unwavering gaze. "That position has been reserved," the blonde said carefully, "but I can promise that you would hold the rank of a flower, the-"

"The Elites of your concubines," Yao ni-ni finished Alfred's sentence with traces of disdain in his tone.

"In the past, many great figures have been taken in as an Emperor's flowers," Prince Alfred attempted to convince Yao ni-ni. "Generals, Ministers, Head of Houses-"

"I know," The petite Easterner raised his hand and retorted sharply. He wasn't an ignorant fool. He placed his chin on his other hand and leaned on his elbow. "I know."

The silence returned as Yao ni-ni and Prince Alfred stared at each other heads on, a young lion battling a dragon. The atmosphere of the room was so apprehensive, Yao ni-ni's voice cut through the tension like a knife to butter. "Kiku, what do you think?"

Kiku froze when the spotlight literally shifted to him. "I-I…," he gave in to the urge to fidget under the gaze of those powerful people and bowed his head. "I don't want…to leave Mei…," he stuttered.

"You can bring anyone you want to bring with you," Prince Alfred's bespectacled guardian finally, finally spoke. "I'm sure Prince Alfred will accommodate. He may even appoint her as a flower. Right, Your Highness?"

Annoyance flitted across Prince Alfred's façade (most probably at the older noble's interference), before he cleared his throat and nodded, "Definitely."

Kiku inhaled sharply. The thought of living with Mei, Yao ni-ni and Alfred in a foreign Empire where the fact that he was an orphaned banner man of House Wang didn't matter – it sounded like a dream. "Yes," Kiku blinked away the tears that clouded his sight and smiled at Alfred, his Prince charming, before sending Yao ni-ni a beseeching gaze. "Yes, I'd like us to go there and live together, Yao ni-ni." Too good to be true.

Yao ni-ni sighed, but the gaze he'd sent the younger begetter was soft. "You better pack your best clothes, then," he told Kiku before turning back to the foreign monarch. Yao ni-ni cast a long look at the bracelet around his delicate wrist, a piece of ruby dotting the eye of the phoenix interlinked with the dragon carved on the amber jade. "Here," he eased his wedding gift, his symbol of acceptance into House Wang, off his wrist and handed the precious piece of jewelry to his future husband. "The guarantee for my dowry, something to show your court that House Wang is supporting your intention to win the throne."

Alfred's face broke to a large grin that nearly split his face to two. "Thank you so much, Lord Wang-"

"Take care of it carefully," Yao ni-ni pulled the bracelet out of the blonde's reach suddenly and narrowed his painted, cat-like eyes. "Or else…"

"Yes," Alfred gulped and handled the jewelry carefully as soon as received it. "I swear I will."

Yao ni-ni reclined in his chair before giving the blonde a shooing gesture with his hands. "Now, let me have a rest. I need some time to accept this news..."

There was a skip to Prince Alfred's steps when he walked out of the room. He gave the Easterners a bow before he exited.

"You should go too, Kiku," Yao ni-ni said as he reached for his tea languidly, "there isn't much time to pack and say your goodbyes, right?"

Kiku nodded. Like Alfred, he gave his parental figure a bow before he left.

"I shall take my leave as well, then," Duke Edelstein rose to his feet and bowed politely.

"This is your goal all along, isn't it?" the Eastern begetter commented as the former flower turned his back to him. "The trade embargo…had been just something you cooked up to make this the lesser of two evils," Wang Yao continued as he watched the other noble's back with sharp eyes.

Duke Edelstein paused in his step, but he didn't bother to turn around. "I don't know what you're talking about," he merely remarked, before moving on.

Yao shook his head. "Westerners."

* * *

><p>"Alfred!" Matthew scooped him into a hug as soon as he spotted his twin stepping down from his carriage. Behind the Princes, Arthur stood a few feet away, a respectful public distance from the royalties. "How is it?" the quieter boy asked inquired anxiously as he took a step back.<p>

Alfred raised his hand and showed the jade bracelet Wang Yao had loaned him.

"Alfred…" Matthew eyed the rubies on the phoenix and the golden scales of the dragon. "These are…House Wang's symbol. So that means-" he began hopefully.

"Three of them will be coming here," Alfred told his brother the good news with wistfulness in his eyes, "to be my flowers."

Matthew covered his gasp with one hand, his other hand keeping its hold around his sibling's forearm. "…are you sure this is what you want?" his violet eyes watched the boy he'd lived with for almost fifteen years (and even shared a womb with) with concern.

Matthew knew him too well, Alfred pondered. When he looked away for a while, his eyes caught Arthur's eyes, and the older blonde presented him a soft smile. From his expression, he seemed quite glad to see Alfred again. The prince's heart soared, and a smile came unbidden to his lips.

"I'll be fine," Alfred whispered as he squeezed his twin's hand, before he finally launched himself to his beloved again and embraced him in full view, the thinner blonde's protests of appropriateness falling on deaf ears.

Alfred sighed in relief. Having Arthur in his arms felt like home.

* * *

><p>"Hey, have you seen…?"<p>

"His Highness' bracelet? That amber jade?"

"…so it is true? His Highness had asked a person of House Wang's hand in marriage and it's been received favourably?"

"I don't…" the young redhead barely replied his acquaintance's question when he spotted the Prince making his way towards the two of them. "Your Highness," he raised his voice to alert the other of the object of their gossip's arrival and gave his monarch a short bow. "Good day."

"Good day, Viscount Nice," the blonde returned his greeting and raised his hand to tuck the strands of golden locks that had strayed to his face when he nodded at the other man. The gesture exposed the rumoured bracelet to the young nobles' eyes almost deliberately and they gasped quietly in awe as they admired the exotic jewelry. "Viscount Nice?"

"Y-yes," the redhead nearly stammered at being caught staring at the Prince's property.

"Would you mind doing me a favour? I have an invitation to extend to him." There was an envelope lying on the gloved hand the Prince had extended, the wax seal bearing the royal coat of arms. "For a _private _gathering," he reduced the volume of his voice till it was almost as soft as a whisper.

Viscount Nice inhaled sharply and opened his hands. "I would certainly pass it to him."

"Milord," the Prince gave him a nod, "Thank you."

"Your Highness," the redhead bowed again when his monarch walked away.

Prince Alfred could barely keep his lips from curling to a smirk when he heard the two boys breaking to a hushed, excitable chatter after he made a turn around the corner. Duke Edelstein had done his job well. The rumour had been well spread.

Alfed would make a public declaration of his intentions soon. He couldn't wait.

* * *

><p>"Is it true?" Count Nice had been one of the first aristocrats to voice the inquiry, as soon as Alfred had settled in his chair between Matthew and Duke Edelstein, behind the table set for most representatives of Houses of his Empire whose allegiance to his grandfather wasn't cast on stone, and participated in some small talks and idle chatters.<p>

"Is what true, milord?" the blue-eyed Prince tested. "I do not know what others have said of me. All I can testify is that my proposal to House Wang has been accepted, and my intention to ascend to the throne is true. And that's why," he raised his voice when the men over the table began to talk amongst themselves. Immediately, they focused their attention on the older Prince.

"And that's why," Alfred repeated and shot them a polite, disarming smile, "I promise that you will not regret placing your trust in me." As soon as he spoke, Lord Zwingli unveiled the chest of a portion of the dowry Wang Yao had shipped, which had finally reached the West Empire after a week of travel. Everyone could practically smell the gold and jewels contained in the box of wood and iron.

"You'll find in front of you," Prince Alfred cleared his throat to distract them from the chest, "a contract, pledging your allegiance for me. In return," his voice dropped to a low murmur, "I will grant you a _favour_. Within reasonable means."

When the crowd reacted with a buzz of whispers, the blonde monarch reclined in his chair and let the excitement build, his blue eyes watching the speculating expressions of his fellow nobles with amusement and confidence. What he was offering was a good deal. There was no way-

"Your Highness," one booming voice cut across the din and brought Alfred out of his musing. The Prince looked up and saw one of the more honourable nobles, an elderly Marquis who'd never been particularly close with Duke Orleans. His judicious, old pale grey irises stared into his monarch's eyes unflinchingly. "Will you be taking the noble from House Wang you'd propose to as Empress Consort once you ascend to the throne?"

The room was, once again, silenced. With every single pairs of eyes staring expectantly at the royalty.

Prince Alfred didn't let the pressure weaken his knees. "No," He rose to his feet, and stood tall when he announced his stand. "I will be taking Arthur Kirkland as my Empress Consort."

Almost immediately, the occupants of the room raised a commotion. "Your Highness-"

"Silence!" Alfred shouted, to no avail, "I should have the right to marry whoever I love!"

"Sure, Your Highness," Count Nice spoke across the table, "but this and that are two different things altogether! The Empress Consort is going to be the Emperor's right hand. He or she must be a person everyone looks at as a sign of a good House! And that slave's history…"

"He's not even chaste," the lord next to him remarked, and if looks could kill Alfred's glare would have sent him six feet under. The Prince bared his teeth and snarled, "Whose fault do you think that is, bas-"

He was stopped by the painful grip Matthew had around his forearm. "Alfred, please, please keep your cool. Losing your temper won't help you win the battle," he spoke rapidly in hushed tone, his brows furrowed and the lines of his face tense.

"Your Highness, you can still appoint him as your flower," the elderly Marquis suggested, and other nobles around the table nodded almost in unison. "I know not him as a person…but having him as your Empress Consort would damage your reputation."

"Other Empires would mock us," one of them huffed and crossed his arms, "that slave murdered your father, for Goodness' sake!" another chimed.

"That's not true!" Alfred would have charged against the noble and punched his face if Duke Edelstein and Matthew weren't holding on to his arms for dear life. "It was a scam! He's innocent!"

"We won't pledge our allegiance to you if you insist on him!" one of them yelled, and the rest pronounced their agreement in a chorus. "Yes! Yes!"

Matthew peered at his brother, worried for his state. "Alfred…"

"GENTLEMEN!" Lord Zwingli's booming voice filled the room and bounced off the walls. With his shotgun poised dangerously over his shoulder, the nobles were quieted immediately. "You were being vicious and childish when you articulated your dissent. We are rationale adults and this conduct is unacceptable for aristocrats," he scolded his peers blatantly.

"That is true," the Marquis, who'd kept his silence as other Counts and Dukes rioted, nodded. "But Your Highness," he turned to the Prince with stern eyes, dashing the hope that had begun to fill Alfred's heart. "Regardless of whether Arthur Kirkland had been unjustly accused or not, I would think that his background still makes him unsuitable to be _our _Empress Consort," the Marquis spoke wisely, his gravelly voice emphasizing on the possessive pronoun. "Remember, Your Highness, this Empire's Empress Consort will not just belong to you, but also to his or her people." The remainder that an Emperor too belonged to his people, and could not live selfishly, was clearly implied in the indirectly worded reprimand.

And that had been the final nail in the coffin.

When Alfred bowed his head, gritted his teeth in anger _it's unfair, it's so unfair _and clenched his fists till they were white, Matthew straightened himself. "Thank you very much for your presence today," he spoke in his brother's stead. "My brother will think about it. In the meanwhile, please take the contract with you and take good care of it. If all is well, we should begin negotiations within a week." He gave the nobles a respectful nod.

Alfred remained catatonic when the lords vacated the makeshift conference room one by one. Duke Roderich and Lord Zwingli exchanged a concerned and apologetic look with Matthew before the duo finally exited the empty chamber. 'Sorry for leaving him to you,' they'd communicated silently with their eyes.

'I'll be fine,' Matthew smiled wanly at them.

Only the two of them were left, now. Matthew stood by his brother the whole time. It was a while before the strong, prideful young lion finally reacted, tears wetting his eyes and dripping down the curvature of his cheeks. "I've failed," when he spoke, his voice was raspy and filled with shame, half his breath choked in his throat in a sob. "I've failed."

"Sshh," Matthew wrapped his arms around his brother when he finally broke down. The two of them dropped to their knees. "Ssshh, Alfred," the younger blonde let his brother press his face to his neck and drench his robe with his tears. Matthew couldn't remember seeing Alfred cry, not in three years at least.

"I can't protect Arthur," his voice sounded so desolate and devoid of life Matthew's heart ached, "What kind of a royalty am I if I can't even make sure that the person I love will get the respect and luxury he deserves!" Alfred's anger and self-loathing were very palpable, his breath making keening sounds from his chest as he croaked, his shoulders shuddering from the force of his sadness. "I'm so powerless!" he pounded on the floor with his fists.

"It's not your fault," Matthew tried to console his brother, but he felt so mortified that whatever he could say were just words that meant nothing. "For now, your objective should be to ascend to the throne…later, when you wield more considerable power, you can try again…" Matthew wasn't even sure he believed in what he was saying. The two of them huddled together for hours before Alfred literally exhausted himself.

But that had only been Alfred's first taste to the kind of sufferings an Emperor has to go through.

TBC

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><p>Happy New Year! You know what gift I want the most :) *waggle eyebrows*<p>

Notes:

1. Cheong Sam is the male equivalent of a Shanghai dress. The female equivalent is Qi Pao. And the bespectacled man is Macau. Idk, I'm sure China's and Macau's relation in canon isn't that bad, but they'd never been portrayed particularly closely.


	17. Chapter 2,13,1: A Graveyard Conversation

A/N: I posted an R-18 interlude of USUK smut in my LJ, I have the same username (only with underscore instead of space between the words, i.e. aria_dc_al_fine)

Part 2.13 is further divided to 4 parts (coz I'm so busy I don't frigging have time to write -_-. I'd rather update in 'short' installments 'more frequently' rather than make you wait half a year for an update).

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><p>Part 2.13: A Fleeting Triumph<p>

Piece 1: A Conversation by the Graveyard

The seventh commemoration of Emperor Francis' death was, surprisingly, a highly somber affair.

In the ceremony held at the Royal Cathedral, the aisles were filled not only by representatives of noble Houses, but also citizens of the Capital who'd willingly spared a few hours of their holiday praying for a monarch who could no longer help them.

Duke Edelstein had chosen to view this in a positive light.

Unlike him, Prince Alfred seemed to be in some sort of a mood the whole day. He'd attended to his duties, performing his responsibilities in the ceremony and receiving the (repeated) condolences politely, solemn in his ensemble of black fabrics, but it was obvious he was rather…displeased with something.

For days leading to the commemoration, Roderich had been watching the monarch, looking out for signs of rebellions. The Duke knew that Prince Alfred wasn't one who would give up easily, and it was Roderich's duty to prevent the rash youth from doing something that would ruin his chance from becoming (and staying) an Emperor. Today was the first day Prince Alfred let out a rather spiteful expression on his face, Roderich noted in alarm.

Later, when the dying sun bled vermilion across the golden, purplish horizon, Roderich spotted the blonde standing in front of his father's tombstone. His lips were pressed together to a thin line, his eyes staring darkly at the face of the life-sized statue of the deceased Emperor, anger and hatred burning holes on the marble.

"Such a murderous intent," the bespectacled aristocrat finally revealed his presence. "Do I need to remind you that he's already dead?"

Duke Edelstein's voice cut through Alfred's reverie. He jumped a foot in the air and nearly had a whiplash when he turned, his heartbeat loud in his ears. "Duke Edelstein," the Prince greeted warily.

Instead of returning his greeting, the brunet looked into his eyes intensely, reading him. Alfred felt disturbed. He was about to snap when the Duke, at long last, talked again. "You've been angry at Francis all of today," the sound of his footsteps grew louder and louder as he spoke, his soles crunching the pebbles and dry grasses on the soil lightly as he approached Alfred. "Could it be…you're blaming him for having married Arthur?" The thought seemed absurd at first, but over what else could Prince Alfred be holding a grudge over his father?

Alfred threw his gaze back to the tombstone, and Roderich sighed inwardly. _Bingo_. "It's such a mess now," Alfred said viciously. "If…if he hadn't done that-"

"Then you would have been able to appoint Arthur as your Empress Consort, with the _blessing_ of the nobles?" Roderich emphasized on the second part of the sentence, alerting the Prince that he indeed had anticipated that the Prince might be harbouring thoughts such as appointing Arthur as his Empress Consort in spite of the noble's displeasure after he'd won the throne. It was stunts like this that could cost Prince Alfred his life. The worst fate that could befall an Emperor is _not _to be restricted as a puppet. He needed to be warned.

Prince Alfred's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and indignity, and Roderich shook his head. "Let me tell you something, Your Highness. That may not be the case," he declared once he'd reached the tombstone, standing side by side with the Prince.

Alfred frowned. "Why not?" he retorted challengingly.

"Well, Arthur had a fiancé, for one," the Duke placed his offering onto his former husband's grave, a bouquet of lilies and irises, House Bonnefoy's flower…and the Prince's late mother's title. "He is a lovely begetter, a younger brother of the Carnation. They would have married before you were of age. After your father snatched his fiancé, he ended up marrying his neighbour, a widow from the South."

Alfred was stunned. He'd never heard that Arthur was betrothed. _It doesn't matter anymore._

"I don't care about Arthur's ex-fiancé!" Alfred remarked almost scathingly. Okay, he had one thing to thank his pop for, but the Prince was confident that even if Emperor Francis didn't marry Arthur, Alfred would be able to convince Arthur to delay the marriage to his fiancé till Alfred was of age. Or something. Anything better than the crap they were in right now.

The two stood in silence. Alfred continued to seethe while Duke Edelstein whispered a quick prayer for the late Emperor.

"I, for one," the brunet stated suddenly, "I am against the notion of Arthur becoming your Empress Consort."

Alfred turned his head sharply and glared. "I thought you were supposed to be on our side!" he shouted accusatorily, the tremors in his voice loud in the stillness of the mausoleum. "Arthur trusts you! And you-"

"And I've always wanted the best for Arthur, Your Highness," Duke Edelstein interrupted. "And his rising to power too quickly, as an Empress Consort, is not something that can keep neither him nor you safe, Your Highness," he spoke to the Prince with authority and with surety, the weight of his experience backing the strength of his gaze.

Alfred stared at the older noble mutely, his mouth struggling to speak. "How…" he could barely get one word to leave his lips.

Alfred could only release the breath he was holding when the Duke shifted his eyes. "Power," he heard the brunet started, "is something that has to be amassed gradually, through garnering a wide network of people who can open doors for you, accumulating your wealth, making the _right_ people owe you favours and pledge their loyalty to you and _eliminating threats_, in order for it to be sustained."

"The reason why Arthur fell from power seven years ago," Duke Edelstein continued before Alfred could protest (Alfred had never done any of those, yet he was powerful, wasn't he?) "was because he couldn't sustain it. He obtained power from Francis so suddenly, and when the tide turned to your grandfather, nobody believed Arthur could turn the tide back. And he indeed, couldn't."

Suddenly, those amethyst eyes returned to Alfred, so somber, so severe Alfred inhaled sharply and fought the urge to take a step back. "If you appoint him to a position of power now, you're no better than your father years ago," Roderich hissed.

_And Arthur will bring you down with him. Arthur knows he will._

Alfred flinched. "But," he tried to argue, "What makes you think that'll happen again? Father didn't care about Arthur, but I do! I can protect him!"

Roderich rubbed his temple with his gloved hand. "Dear Alfred," it was the first time he'd addressed his ex-husband's son in sarcastic intimacy. "Do you truly think you are _that_ powerful?"

The reminder of Alfred's failure in the negotiation shut the young Prince up immediately. He began to tremble, his wide, wide, painfully young eyes staring at his feet.

Roderich felt a bit bad for crushing the hope of such a brilliant boy like his Prince, he really did, but his safety mattered most. "At his peak, your father used to be able to play his cards right," he reminisced wistfully. "Francis identified that others who eye his throne would use me, his first cousin, to target him. We had known each other since childhood. He knew that I have no desire to sit on the throne. So instead of eliminating me, he made me an offer. He secured me a life of peace and comfort, and he placed me where he could keep an eye on me, a position where I could no longer be a threat to him. He did the same thing with Carnation and Cornflower, whose military and naval strength could be a threat to him, keeping them close to him."

"Similarly," he drew a link. He didn't just share his experience to rub salt on the Prince's wound, "right now, the best thing that could happen to Arthur is for him to assume a position nobody would find him threatening, a position that also allows him a modicum of protection and comfort."

Roderich paused and reached out to touch his companion on his upper arm. He waited until the Prince's watery blue eyes were turned to him before he finished his advice. "Appointing him as _just_ a flower in your harem would give him that."

"…But…" Prince Alfred resisted, but it was clear that the monarch was losing that internal battle in his mind. Roderich had driven his point across. Good.

The Duke dug his hand into his pocket to find the bundle of cloth he'd been carrying around for a few days, the bundle he'd been meaning to hand to the battling Prince, bidding for the right time. Now was as good as any. He took out the item and let the wrapping fall aside to reveal the jewel inside. "Here."

Prince Alfred eyed the painfully familiar jewel, the cut of the diamonds and rubies curled around one another, the tiny pearls dangling at the sides, the slightly dulled gleam of the old platinum of the base and the leaves. "That's-" he pointed at it from a distance, as though the object was poisoned.

"I managed to salvage it from the prison guards before they dismantled it and divided the keeps for themselves," Duke Edelstein pushed it further to the Prince's hand. "I'd forgotten about it until Arthur's letter came. Here, return to him what's rightfully his," he passed the crown Arthur had worn as Francis' Rose to his son.

Prince Alfred recoiled. "No!" he disagreed. "At the very least, Arthur should have a new crown! And a new title! Something that separates him from his past, makes him less vulnerable-"

Roderich agreed, to some extent, but timing was the more pressing issue now. "Do you understand why the Cathedral was filled to the brim by people you wouldn't expect to have turned up?" He interjected. "It's because anti-Orleans sentiment is finally rising. Your father, he was good at keeping the balance, and pleasing the right people. Your grandfather, he hasn't really bothered. Today is the day people are mentally forced to recall the 'good times' they had under your father's reign and compare it with what they have now under Duke Orlean's reign. This is a good time to strike. So that if, if your appeal to the Parliament fails – I sincerely hope it won't and I will do my best to plan the confrontation so that it won't," Roderich quickly added when the Prince's glare turned murderous. "There is a back-up plan."

The Prince narrowed his eyes and bit his lower lip, his fingers fiddling the sleeve of his dark grey shirt anxiously into shreds. But he didn't rebut. He was convinced.

Roderich exhaled in relief. "I received a notice that Wang Yao, Wang Mei and Kiku Honda are arriving in a couple of days," he continued. "A special notice for an extraordinary general meeting with the Parliament at the beginning of next week has been sent. All the ground work has been laid out. There is not much time to waste."

Alfred's gaze hardened. He finally nodded; a small decisive movement of his head.

It's time for showdown.

TBC

A/N: Review Please! And Happy (belated) Lunar New Year to those who celebrate it!


	18. Chapter 2,12,2: A Wedding wo Witnesses

A/N: I want to 'confess'. As some of you may already know, I actually started writing this in…November 2010 if I'm not mistaken. I've been uploading the story to LJ. By the time I uploaded the prologue in FF net, this story has already reached…chapter 2.12 in LJ I think. So I've been bidding my time and uploading the 'spares' I have to FF net.

However, I'm running out of 'spares'. This is the second last chapter I have written. Tbh, I've been…sad. 300+ readers and 6 reviews. And I'm blinkered. Final Year Project, traineeship search, 2 major academic projects, presidency of a youth organization…Now, now, I daresay I have good time management, and I'm generally able to find the time to do something I've committed myself to do. But lately I've been wondering if the time I spend writing this is worth it.

I know you readers find my complaints annoying. And I haven't been replying to reviews, so maybe that's why you think I'm 'cold'. I've been fooling myself too maybe. If this story is really that good, I won't have to complain about the lack of reviews every couple of chapters. So it's my bad.

Anyways, enough rambling; here's your update.

* * *

><p>Piece 2: A Wedding with (almost) no Witness<p>

Prince Alfred was avoiding Arthur's eyes again.

The young monarch had been on cloud nine since…they'd lain together for the first time, sending him moony eyes whenever they occupied the same room. At first, Arthur was embarrassed and worried about how the court viewed the suggestive looks, but he'd been secretly happy about the attention, about the love-struck expression on Alfred's face whenever he made love to Arthur. Arthur often ran his fingers through the expanse of the Prince's back and the golden strands of his hair in amazement, and thought it so _surreal_ he was scared to breathe too loudly, lest these dream-like moments shatter.

Yet, during the days leading to the commemoration of his father's death, Alfred started becoming withdrawn, scarcely telling him anything of value, anything that wasn't empty reassurances. Arthur let the young man keep up his appearances and play the hero, and fulfilled his information needs from elsewhere: Duke Edelstein, Lord Zwingli, even Xin and Prince Matthew, whom Arthur was initially hesitant to approach because Prince Alfred seemed to put so much faith in his twin. Yet, Matthew volunteered his concerns of Alfred to Arthur readily (and discreetly. He didn't seem to trust anyone else with that information, not even Duke Edelstein). He was Arthur's window to the thoughts running in Prince Alfred's head.

"Everything's ready," Roderich had told him in the evening of the commemoration. "A date has been fixed for the extraordinary general meeting. It's next week."

Arthur merely nodded mutely. What else could he do, other than helping the Prince prepare his speech and his rebuttals? He could not even be there on that day itself.

"He's insecure," Xin told him as she visited him on the pretence of cleaning his chamber. "Everyone seemed to be measuring him against his father, whom he has resented. For letting his mother die, may be, or for marrying you, amongst other things."

"That can't be true," Arthur commented.

The Eastern girl shrugged.

Arthur shook his head silently.

(He didn't inform her that, two days later, when he conversed with Prince Matthew, the monarch basically told him the same piece of information, in a more sympathetic manner. Xin and her network of information, he didn't know how she secured it.)

Arthur knew Xin didn't trust that Alfred could be a good Emperor. She didn't really express this sentiment to anyone, for the very simple reason that she could lose her life if she did, but he knew, from the storm brewing in her dark eyes, that she doubted his capabilities, but like any other lesser commoners [1], she was resigned (because what else can they do?).

Lord Zwingli was more vocal about his complaints, especially after the arguments in late night meetings. "I thought the traditional custom of Princes competing for the throne was brutal," he had grumbled to Arthur, once, as he chugged mugs of beer over their private dinner. "But now I'm wishing that the damned brat has at least a few half-siblings to teach him a lesson or two. Prince Matthew is too loyal to his twin."

Oh, Princes and Princesses were ordered in their succession to the throne, like how Alfred and Matthew were first-in-line, Maria was third and Gilbert's child, if born safely, would be fourth (Arthur suddenly realized with a pang that he'd missed the albino), but this was just numbering. It was not certain at all. Generations of half-siblings used to sabotage each other with claims of insanity, infertility, insurgency – anything that rendered the other contenders unfit for succession. The Princes performed deeds to prove themselves and rallied the support of noble Houses, dividing the court to factions who donated money, battalions of army, knowledge – anything to help the Princes win (and in turn get themselves elevated when the Prince they'd supported won the throne). Often, Princes lost their lives in these races. Emperor Francis himself hadn't been the first-in line for the throne. A few of his older brothers died in battlefields. Others were exiled, poisoned or worse. May be Emperor Francis had committed those crimes himself. May be his supporters had committed them without consulting him. May be other Princes or supporters had committed them, and Francis was just smart enough to leverage on the turns of events. Nobody knew. Nobody really cared, as long as these blood feuds did not affect the economy or the well-being of the Empire. (There seemed to be an unwritten agreement amongst the Princes that once a victor had emerged, the rest would back down.)

Contrarily, if there was anything good about this system, that ruthless competition ensured that whoever won the crown was intelligent, knew how to forge strong bonds with people who could help him, and had some talents – charisma, military strength, strategic thinking – that benefited the Empire. So this system, along with the Emperor's harem that came in a package with it, persisted.

"One day," Lord Zwingli had sighed to his drink, "I swear his ideals will kill him one day."

Arthur was painfully aware of that, of how naïve and groundlessly optimistic Prince Alfred was and Arthur felt he was to blame. He'd failed to teach the monarch the workings of the world, wasn't willing to let him see the ugliness.

Arthur forced himself to think positively. He could remedy the wrong, and help Alfred adjust to the changes he would surely experience after he took up the crown. He would coerce the Prince to start talking, _really talking_ to him again.

At least, that was the resolve Arthur had come to, after Lord Zwingli had left, as he lay in his bed, slowly succumbing to sleep.

The next morning, Arthur woke up to the sight of Xin, who was shaking his shoulder. "Good morning," she greeted him as he got up, rubbing his eyes.

"Morning," Arthur eyed the barely glowing sun on the sky of dawn over his window in surprise. "What's the occa-" he asked as he turned back to her. And froze.

There was a large, relatively thin box in her hands, beige in colour, with a white ribbon tying it in place. "His Highness told me to pass this to you, milord," she placed the parcel on the nightstand next to his single bed.

Arthur blinked. "Call me by my name, Xin," he reached for the box and untied the ribbon. "What's brought this change-"

Inside the box, lay a set of clothes in various shades of white, covered by a lacy veil so delicate, so thin, with tiny patterns of flowers intricately embroidered in the net. When Arthur touched the silky vest, his fingertips skimmed through the cool, smooth surface. "Xin," he whispered through a tiny gap between his lips, afraid that spittle would drop on the expensive fabric and ruin it. "What does this mean?"

The Easterner fell to her knees. Next to her feet, there was a metal basin – rich in colour and design – containing bottles of fine oil and a fragrant bar of soap. "His Highness had told me to prepare you, milord," she spoke with her head bowed.

Arthur followed Xin to the nearest private bathroom in a daze. He'd let her wash his hair as he sat in the brass tub, soaking in blissful hot water. He'd let her rub him all over, from the broad expanse of his back to the tiny spaces under his toenails, with the washcloth she'd lathered with soap, and he'd let her wash the suds off, dry him with a large fluffy towel gently, covered his skin in scented oil and lead him back to his room in his bathrobe. He'd never had to lift a finger. Everything felt surreal…and vaguely nostalgic. Arthur remembered receiving such a treatment, such pampering, when he used to be at the top of the Empire, and he marveled how something he'd taken for granted then could almost bring him to tears now.

"Milord." When he was pulled out of his reverie, he was already dressed, finest fabrics fitting his form flatteringly. The brush of nylon on his calves. The cool satin against his palm. The delicate cravat around his neck. "Milord, please bend down a little," Xin requested.

He accidentally caught his reflection on his window pane as he turned to her, and Arthur could not recognize the blonde in the white three-piece suit. Any traces of raggedness, of maltreatment, were concealed by the powder and cream covering his face, by the thick fabric covering his scars and thin limbs. He looked just like any other ordinary noble, prepped up for a wedding.

As though the last seven years didn't happen.

A flash of déjà vu, of himself, so many years ago, in a similar (frillier, unnecessarily more extravagant) ensemble flashed through his mind and he sank into desperation. "I…" he forcefully shifted his gaze, only to stare again at the veil Xin was holding in her hand. _What have I suffered for? _He wondered as she stood on her toes to place it on his head and secured it to his hair. _What is going to happen next?_

"I'd like to believe everything happens for a reason," she whispered as she purposefully brushed her knuckles against the side of his collar. Her eyes bore into him when he looked at her, depthless twin dark pools which expressed so much and so little at the same time. His companion in misery. She shot him a small smile as she moved on to helping him wear a large, dark cloak that completely shrouded the apparel beneath it. "Today is supposed to be the start of your new life, so please be happy."

He remembered nodding absentmindedly before he was led out of the Castle, to an obscure, dark brown carriage. They passed through the Castle gate with ease when Xin showed the guards a letter through the window. They travelled in silence, the curtains hiding the streets from view, the gentle rocking helping Arthur make peace of the chaos in his head. It took a while before they finally stopped.

The sight that welcomed Arthur when he stepped down from the carriage was that of a chapel. A small chapel, with two half-moon windows flanking its wooden door, surrounded by the woods. There were other carriages parked by the side, the white mares munching on the grasses lazily. They must be at the outskirts of the capital.

"My job ends here," Xin said as she removed his cloak.

Arthur halted, and turned to her. Her face was filled with hope when she smiled at him. "You'll be fine."

She disappeared back into the carriage. They took off before Arthur could call them to bring him back to the Bonnefoy Dynasty Castle, and nearly half a beat afterward, the door to the chapel creaked open.

"Arthur," Prince Matthew greeted him as he held the iron handle of the door with a gloved hand, handsome in pale blue robe and violet vest. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his other hand, white orchids and champagne roses. "We've been waiting for you," his smile grew as he handed the bouquet to Arthur and pulled him into the chapel.

Once Arthur stepped into the building, Lord Zwingli took Prince Matthew's place at Arthur's side, and offered his arm awkwardly. The older blonde looked uncomfortable, and slightly bleary, telltale of a hangover he must be recovering from yesterday's dinner. "I wanted to drop you a hint last night," he whispered and fought the grimace from showing on his face, "but the brat insisted it be a surprise. Said you're mentally ready for this anyway. So here I am now, sending you off."

The organ started playing the wedding march. From the side of the chapel, Roderich briefly looked up from the chamber organ and shot a smile at him. Arthur returned the smile, took a deep breath, and began walking down the aisle.

The aisle was relatively short, definitely shorter than the one in the Royal Cathedral – that was for certain. There was no red carpet over the stone floor. The pews were bare, backless wooden benches, so old the grains were visible. Somehow, these tiny differences mattered to Arthur.

And ahead of him, standing next to the altar were Matthew and Alfred, the latter decked from head to toe in white, a three-piece suit that accentuated his frame, his superior bone structure. Not in his House's colours. Not with a velvety cape hanging off his broad shoulders, or an oversized crown nestled between his golden locks. Just Alfred, striking, young Alfred, with a dashing smile and bright sky-blue eyes, his figure both cast in shadow and illuminated by different-coloured patches of light streaming from the large stained glass windows of the walls of the chapel. As Arthur drew closer and closer to the altar, he became dizzier with awe, his heart beating faster and faster under his ribcage. Alfred looked so perfect, so otherworldly, like an angel. An angel who had stolen Arthur's breath, and never gave it back [2].

"Today, we're gathered here, in the presence of God [3], to unite these men in marriage," the organ had stopped playing. Elizaveta, who was apparently facilitating the ceremony in a priest' stead, had begun, yet Arthur didn't notice. His whole world was, again, zeroed in the man, the boy who'd always garnered his attention since the day he took his first step on that Castle. To the wide curve of his lips. To the light flush on his cheeks. To the way those eyes lit up when they fell on him. The happiness in his expression. The nervousness belayed in his slightly shaking hands. _Why did I ever hesitate? _Arthur's mouth was dry. _How did I ever think things may proceed the same way they did in the past? I'm such a fool._

"Therefore, it any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now, or else hereafter hold his peace," Elizaveta ended her speech, and waited. Of course, the few audiences they had wouldn't object. She turned to the groom almost excitedly. "You may recite your vow."

Prince Alfred visibly gulped. The first time he opened his mouth, no sound came out of his lips. This was strangely endearing to Arthur. When Alfred's cheeks burnt red in shame, Arthur nudged his hand lightly with his hand, and gave him an encouraging smile when the younger blonde looked at him. Alfred smiled back, and tried again.

"I, Alfred Franklin Jones Bonnefoy, take thee, Arthur Kirkland, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part." Arthur kept his gaze on Alfred's eyes when he recited his vow in a steady voice.

It was Arthur's turn to be nervous now. He clenched his sweaty fists around the bouquet and cleared his throat. "I, Arthur Kirkland," his breath failed him and he had to pause to inhale, but Alfred's expression was encouraging, and Arthur felt warmth spreading in his chest, "take thee, Alfred Franklin Jones Bonnefoy, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part."

Alfred smiled at Arthur, pride shining through his eyes, and Arthur returned the smile. God, he didn't think he'd ever stopped smiling through the whole ceremony.

Elizaveta took a step back, and Prince Matthew replaced her, carrying a small cushion on his hands. Lain atop the pillow was something Arthur thought he'd never see anymore. "That ornament…" The worries he'd had came back.

"I'm sorry," the first time in that ceremony, Alfred's face fell, and Arthur quickly, deeply regretted showing his doubt in front of the Prince. "I wanted to give you another title. Make you a new jewelry. But the preparations have been happening so fast, and Rose, incidentally, also means true love-"

"Alfred," Arthur stopped the other blonde with a caress on the cheek when the Prince's words were uttered faster and more garbled. "I don't mind," he gave him a reassuring smile.

Alfred sighed in relief, but there was still a tiny frown etched between his brows. Nevertheless, he took the hairpin, which held rubies, diamonds and pearls arranged in the shape of a Tudor Rose, from the cushion, and clipped it to Arthur's hair. "With this Crown, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with my worldly goods I thee endow," Alfred finished the last of his vows, the vow that slightly differentiated their wedding from an ordinary wedding.

Elizaveta took Matthew's place when he retreated. "By the power vested in me by the Empire," the brunette winked at the Prince when she announced that, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." She sounded so enthusiastic, Arthur had the feeling that last sentence was almost spoken with an exclamation mark.

The brush of Alfred's gloved fingers hovering near his jaws brought him back to his husband, whose lips had curled upwards in a giddy, slightly unsure grin. Arthur decided to not let his mood be brought down by the reminder of their reality, and expressed every ounce of his love for the young man in front of him as much as he could. The darling who'd over and over again, bent the sky for him, and would give him heaven if he knew how to. This idealistic man who always meant him well. Arthur was always torn between keeping Alfred just the way he was and changing his views of the world. He doubted he'd be able to make him a cynic. "Come, love," Arthur beckoned as he placed the hand that wasn't holding his bouquet on Alfred's shoulder. "Come and kiss me," he mouthed.

Alfred's smile brightened as he lifted the veil and smoothed it against Arthur's hair. With one hand resting against his nape and the other cradling Arthur's cheek, he leaned closer, closing his eyes before their lips touched. It was chaste and sweet, and-

Arthur's heart soared.

* * *

><p>(Later, much later, when they curled around each other in the Prince's bed, sticky and sated after rounds of lovemaking on their wedding night, Alfred apologized.<p>

"It wasn't very romantic," he whispered as he mapped Arthur's knuckles with his thumb, the pads of his fingers skimming lightly against calloused skin, studying, pawing. Never seemed to have gotten enough of him. "I wanted to marry you in the grandest church, the Royal Cathedral…or at least one of the heritage sites away from the capital may be. I want to gift you the most beautiful crown mankind has ever seen, in front of everyone-"

"Shh," Arthur stopped him with a kiss. "I loved it," he whispered against the other's mouth. "I was married to you, just now. Not to the Empire, not to my duties. Just you. Like any ordinary couple. I've never had that kind of marriage. I like that more," he nuzzled Alfred's shoulder.

Arthur felt Alfred's other hand tightening his grip around Arthur hip bone, briefly, before soothing the skin with lazy circles. "I love you," he declared suddenly, after a brief period of quietness.

"Me too, Alfred," Arthur smiled against his lover's heated, sweaty skin, his eyelashes fluttering against the Prince's collarbone as he began to slumber. "Me too.")

TBC

* * *

><p>Notes:<p>

1. The phrase 'lesser commoner' may be strange, but well, the status of slaves is lower than that of peasants, so…

2. This phrase is borrowed from Ellarose C's Rainbows in My Wine, www. fanfiction. net/s/6693415/1/Rainbows_in_My_Wine, recently recc-ed in the usxuk community

3. I don't think the religion here is Christianity. I know I used words like Cathedral and church and chapel, because that's my religion in RL (at least, on official papers), I'm most familiar with that, but since Christianity advocates one-man, one-wife marriages, I don't think the national religion is Christianity. A spin-off? Idk, religion doesn't play a big part in this setting anyways.

The church looks a little like this: www. pixiv .net/member_?mode=big&illust_id=19074443

4. There is, deliberately, no exchange of rings. Because this is an elopement, in essence. If everyone in court knew they'd been married when Arthur and Alfred wear their rings in public, the courtiers would be ballistic. In Arthur's marriage to Francis, he didn't get a ring either. So I made it not a part of their marriage customs.


	19. Chapter 2,13,3: No Heaven on Earth

A/N1: The concept of begetter isn't so out of the world after all! http:/ aria-dc-al-fine . livejournal . com / 17853 . html

A/N2: If any of you is curious about the source of inspiration of this fic, watch War and Beauty (2004). The cast were fantastic, the acting superb. The plot of is really, really good. There are many characters, their lives intertwined, with little sense of who are the 'main characters'. You'll end up sympathizing with everyone, even after they've schemed against each other. Watch here: http:/ media . sharecentral. net / ?p=7248

Anyways, here's your update:

* * *

><p>Piece 3: There is no Heaven on Earth<p>

"Yao-hyung-"

"No." The petite begetter, who'd been supervising his servants as they packed his belongings to a wooden chest, sighed and shook his head for the umpteenth time.

Kiku and Mei, who had finished packing their lives into considerably smaller chests of fine clothes and precious mementos, merely sat around the round wooden table their guardian was leaning on, watching the interaction almost absentmindedly.

"Please, Yao-hyung!"

"For goodness sake, no!" Yao put down his cup in frustration, the piping green tea sloshing over the rim and wetting the dark maroon tablecloth covering the furniture. "How many times do I have to say it?" He slammed the table with his palms as he rose to his feet, the gold of his bejeweled claws rattling against the fabric. "You are not to go with me!"

"But Yao-hyung!" The teenage boy in knee-length white robe and trousers, with blue vest covering his torso, pointed at the two bystanders in the room. "It's so unfair! Why can Kiku and Mei _xiao jie_ go with you and I can't?" He looked visibly distressed, his chest heaving.

"Because you're male, Yong Soo. You can't be a concubine to the West's young Emperor, could you?" Yao hissed sarcastically.

"I can still go with you," Yong Soo pleaded. He dropped to his knees and pulled on the ends of the older Easterner's Cheong Sam. "Please."

"As what, a servant?" Yao sighed and held his bangs back from his face with one hand, the cool metal pressing against his throbbing temple.

"You'll need a butler, right?" The teenager wrapped his arms around his guardian, his idol. "I can be that."

"Yong Soo…" Yao sighed again and patted the boy's head with his other hand. "You're better than that. Besides…" He bent down to slung an arm around the House's banner man son he'd treated like his own kin since the boy's father met an unfortunate end. "I need you here. I need you to take care of Anh. You know how important that is, don't you?" Yao whispered to Yong Soo's ear as he patted the small of his back. This would boost his ego, knowing that Yao needed him. Truly needed him.

The boy finally, finally acceded. "I'll write to you." His face was pinched.

"I'll write to you, too," Yao enveloped him in a hug. "Thank you, Yong Soo. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

Several feet away, Kiku and Mei were unaware of the tearful parting, blissfully caught in their own conversation. "Kiku, you've met the Prince, right?" Mei's expression lit up, excitement palpable in her chocolaty eyes. "Is he good looking?" she giggled behind her sleeves.

"He…is good-looking," Kiku recalled his build, the gold of his hair, and the brightness of his eyes. "Like someone out of a fairytale."

"I can't believe it," Mei sighed dreamily. "We are going to be married to an Emperor. And I don't have to part with you. This is too good." The smile the young, young girl – barely a teenager – presented him was as beautiful as precious stones, happiness lighting her whole face. Kiku couldn't help but smile back.

"_Hao le, hao le,_ [1]" Yao returned to the wooden table and moved her hands in a shooing gesture. "We are going to go through a long journey for the next few days. You must get a good rest tonight."

"Okay, Ni-ni," Mei rose to her feet and flung her arms around her brotherly figure. "Good night."

"Good night," Kiku echoed as he gave a short bow.

He didn't question his guardian when Im Yong Soo remained behind instead of following them out.

* * *

><p>Yao wasn't lying when he told them the journey was long. They had been travelling by carriages for days, changing to fresh horses every morning, and it didn't seem like they were going to reach soon. Still, Kiku was excited to see the scenery outside the windows gradually changing, cityscape transforming from tall, wooden pagodas with curled roofs to circular brick buildings with rounded swirling bulbs as roofs, from dense bamboos and thin towering plants to coniferous pine trees with needle-like leaves. The furthest he had been in his life was his father's ancestral ground, which was a day's journey away by land and sea, and the architecture of the buildings, and the floras and faunas were similar to that around House Wang's spacious residence. The sheer foreignness of his surroundings inspired awe in him.<p>

After around nine days [2], Kiku woke up to Mei's enthusiastic chatter. "Kiku!" the teenage girl shook his shoulder, waking him from his nap. Soft morning rays filtered through the opening between the curtains covering the carriage's glass panes, bathing her lovely face in black shadows and gold. "We're reaching the capital! We're going to pass the city gate!" she told him animatedly, the errant curl of her bangs falling to her eyes.

Kiku quickly straightened himself and followed Mei's line of sight as she pointed at the interaction happening between their driver and the city guard over the windows. Opposite to them, Yao continued to lean on the cushion pressed between him and the side of the carriage, raising a hand to cover his yawn sleepily. Mei was a ball of energy, visibly rocking back and forth as they peeked through the curtains as they passed the Upper districts, where nobles and officials had their second residences, vast estates with towering brass gates and a group of uniformed, armed guards stationed outside. Kiku and Mei watched as mansions were replaced by cramped, smaller houses, before giving way to stalls at the wet markets downtown, positively buzzing with activities, citizens haggling over groceries and other products. Kiku tried to see more details of the goods that were laid out on the booths to no avail. Before they knew it, they were already passing by the city square, through the thick of the crowd, surrounded by official buildings, the old, majestic Royal Cathedral the nuclei of the civilization [3].

But none of these came breathtakingly close to the Bonnefoy Dynasty Castle.

Easily fifty acres in area [4], the formidable Castle was surrounded by tall, grey brick walls and a ditch, with four gates, one at each side of the rectangular complex. Their carriage was once again stopped by the guards, intimidating in their steel body protectors, long spears in their right hands, violet, indigo and ivory fabric tied to the wooden pole. The guards let them in as soon as Prince Alfred's invitation letter was flashed, and soon enough, they were riding through a small road enclosed by acres and acres of greenery, the Royal Garden stretched across the horizon. Kiku watched as bushes of sweet, colourful flowers and small, well-pruned trees lining the sides of the road flashed by, until the carriage reached the end of the path.

There was a thin blonde man standing in front of the lobby, on the platform that was the large mansion's porch, clothed in sensible, high-collared cotton white dress shirt and brown robes. He looked like an aide. Positioned next to him was a petite female Easterner in a customary black maid uniform. As soon as the carriage skidded to a halt, the aide opened the door. "Lord Honda," he bowed and offered his arm to Kiku, supporting him as he alighted.

"Thank you," Kiku told the straw blonde hair on top of the aide's head. On the other side of the carriage, the maid was helping Yao ni-ni and Mei alight.

"Don't mention it," the aide looked up and smiled politely. The first thing Kiku noticed about the blonde's face was the arch of his thick, bushy eyebrows, (such a strong facial feature) followed by the pair of stunning leaf-green eyes beneath them, flecks of hazel surrounding his round pupils, his long, thick lashes and the delicate curve of his pink Cupid's bow lips. The aide might be a begetter after all.

"Arthur Kirkland, at your service," the aide introduced himself to the three of them once they had gathered on the porch. Kiku heard a soft gasp left Yao ni-ni's lips, and peered at his guardian's face. There was apprehension in his amber eyes, not the curious wonder Kiku had felt barely moments ago. Kiku raised his brow inwardly. "Welcome to Bonnefoy Dynasty's Castle," Kirkland continued.

"Thank you!" Mei replied enthusiastically, while Yao ni-ni merely waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. Just lead us to our quarters, won't you?"

"Certainly." Kirkland stared at Yao ni-ni for a while before he turned to do as he was bid. Mei and Kiku gawked as they crossed the entrance hall, a grandeur affair with patterned marble tiles depicting lilies, green ivies twining blue and violet lines. The ceiling was painted with angels, resting amongst blue sky and fluffy clouds. Kiku followed Kirkland and the maid absently as he walked up one of the staircases curled around the empty circular space, his fingers trailing over the intricate carvings on the wooden banister.

After they had entered the apartment wing's corridor, and there weren't much to see, Kiku started noticing that Kirkland had been stealing glances at Yao ni-ni furtively throughout their walk.

"What!" Yao ni-ni finally snapped. "Are all Western servants rude?"

"Please pardon me!" Caught red handed, Kirkland bowed, his pale cheeks stained deep red in shame. "I…can't shake the feeling that I have met you before, Lord Wang."

Kiku saw Yao ni-ni froze for a fraction of a second, before the petite begetter rolled his eyes and huffed. "Aiya, you Westerners. You can't remember Easterners' faces! Every one of us looks the same to you [5]," he tsked and shook his head. "I've never been here!" he harrumphed and crossed his arms.

"Utmost apologies," Kirkland bowed deeper, his blush spreading to his ears.

The maid observed the situation with her brows in a tiny frown before she bowed alongside the aide. Kiku almost didn't catch it.

The ten-minute walk afterward was uneventful. After passing through so many doors, and going up several stairs, Kiku was relieved to see the aide finally turning the knob of a large mahogany door.

The room behind the door was a living room of sorts, with brocaded sofas positioned around a rectangular glass table. There were six smaller doors connected to the room.

"That leads to the private bathroom," Kirkland pointed at the door furthest away from the large window overlooking the Royal Garden. "That leads to the master bedroom. And the rest lead to single bedrooms, similar in size and layout."

"Haiz," Yao ni-ni sighed loudly as he plopped onto the sofa and spread his arms. He looked around in disdain. "Is this the best you can give me?"

"I'm sorry, milord," the aide bowed again. "Since an emergency parliamentary meeting is going to be held soon, the Castle is filled with many guests now."

Yao ni-ni shook his head as he stretched his legs, while Mei had taken to inspecting the furnishing of the room in wonder. "Is His Highness going to meet us?" she asked the aide with anticipation in her eyes.

"His Highness is busy now, milady," the look Kirkland sent the sweet young girl was apologetic. "But, as I was about to inform you, a Welcome party has been organized for you tonight, Lord and Lady Wang. Prince Alfred will most certainly be there."

"He doesn't waste any time, does he?" Kiku heard Yao ni-ni murmur before the older begetter made a shooing motion with his hands. "Let us have our rest now."

"Please be ready by six thirty. If you need anything, please call for Xin." The aide gave one last bow and left.

* * *

><p>The ballroom was really crowded.<p>

That was Kiku's first observation once the mahogany doors were opened and his arrival was announced. The buzz of conversations met an abrupt halt. For a moment, the men in majestic suits and women in floor-length gowns filling the room to the brim turned and stared at their exotic guests, the celebrities of the night.

Kiku buckled under the weight of the stares, hundred pairs of eyes judging and observing him like he was a rare animal on display. His fingers worried the sleeve of his (expensive, fine, his third best) blue furisode [6], fingers prying apart a loose thread from an embroidered butterfly, dark eyes darting from one corner of the room to another. His socked feet were paralysed with fear, the wood of his three-inch _okobo_ [7] clacking against the marble tiles as he shook.

"Carry yourself with pride," Yao ni-ni whispered as he walked past Kiku and entered the ballroom confidently, his dainty feet taking measured, sure steps despite the red flower-bowl shoes [8] limiting his movements. Yao ni-ni was dressed to the nines. He was wearing a long, bright yellow Qi Pao – not the body-hugging one with high slit he'd often wore for the kill, but a rather loose floor-length dress, something Kiku had seen only high-ranking Imperial Consorts of the Qin Dynasty of the East wearing. The dress had patterns of crimson phoenix finely embroidered on the gold silk, the high stiff collar enunciating Yao's slender neck. Everything from the pins in his headdress and his nail protectors were gleaming with gems and gold. The amber of his eyes were brought out by the dark maroon of the shadows on his eyelids, his large eyes downcast, only peering boldly at those who stared at him unabashedly from time to time, rouged lips curled in a coy smile. The rest of his face was covered in pale-coloured foundation, pink blush accentuating his cheek bones. He was exquisite as a doll, so perfect he looked surreal, the epitome of an Oriental grace.

Mei followed him in blissful ignorance, one hand looped around her guardian's arm. She was dressed in an aquamarine gown, the tresses voluminous and mirroring the West's fashion, while the torso maintained the East's style, with stiff high collar and curly buttons. Her long hair was tied to two buns, dangling accessories swaying as she walked.

Kiku gulped and followed apprehensively, not wanting to be too far from Yao ni-ni, yet at the same time, he was queasy about stepping into the battle zone (for it _was_ a battle. Yao ni-ni had told him to change twice because he deemed his clothes inappropriate – 'we don't want to look too shabby or too eager' – and his mascara was bothering him-)

"His Highness, Prince Alfred has arrived!" the doorman announced.

Kiku turned around and relief spread in his chest when he finally laid his eyes on the familiar figure of a handsome blue-eyed blonde, decked in fineries from head to toe, with brocaded blue velvet robe draped on his broad shoulders, his clothes fitted to accentuate his handsome features, silver and bright colours decorating his hems and sleeves. Kiku couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face as he took a step closer to his future husband. "Alfred-sa-"

But the Prince attention wasn't on him at all. A figure emerged on the Prince's side, lovely in ivory and vermilion, and he held all of Alfred's attention. _It's Kirkland,_ Kiku realized belatedly, so stunningly different from the deceiving, plainly dressed _butler_that had served them just now. The gold of his robe, which had a touch of Southern style to it, complemented the washed out yellow of his hair, partially covered by patterned, translucent fabric wrapped around his head, secured by a hairpin of rose, made of large pieces of gleaming rubies and diamonds. The rose matched the patterns of ivies and roses on the silk of his fabric. The shades of amber he wore made his deep green eyes stand out, bright as the gems in his earrings and bracelet. Properly dressed, Kiku could acknowledge that this begetter was beautiful. He felt cheated.

"Thank you for organizing this in such a short notice," Kiku heard Prince Alfred tell his companion, the monarch's voice tender voice only paralleled by the sheer affection in his gaze, and the way he held the begetter's hand close to his lips, a gloved thumb rubbing his knuckles. The Prince looked at Kirkland like Kirkland was the centre of his world.

Alfred didn't _see_ Kiku. Kiku was nowhere in his sight.

Kiku threw his gaze away, and met Yao ni-ni's eyes. His stare was pensive and omniscient, holding Kiku captive.

"Kiku!" When Prince Alfred finally, finally greeted him, Kiku wasn't prepared. His expression was the epitome of 'deer caught in the headlights' when he turned to the monarch. "A-alfred-sama," he nearly stammered, his heart performing a somersault under his ribcages.

Alfred either didn't notice, or chose to ignore it. He beamed at Kiku instead. "How have you settled so far?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking. It's a beautiful castle," Kiku replied politely, quite reflexively. His eyes scanned the monarch's surrounding for a moment before he was glad to note that Kirkland was nowhere near them.

"Your Highness," Mei moved to Kiku's side and curtsied. "Nice to meet you. I'm Wang Mei."

"I'm honoured to have the pleasure of your presence, beautiful lady," Prince Alfred dropped a chaste kiss on the back of the girl's palm and spoke charmingly. He kept his hand held up, though his fingers had released her palm. "Come with me," he smiled at her.

With a light blush on her cheeks and an excited gleam in her eyes, Mei followed Prince Alfred as he led his guests to the platform where five chairs had been set up. One of them had been occupied by a young man whom, at first glance, could be mistaken as Prince Alfred. Yet, as Kiku came closer, he decided that the twins weren't that alike after all. There was calmness in the dark indigo eyes of Prince Alfred's brother, the lines of his face less used to huge grins and more used to small, amicable smiles. "Matthew! These are Kiku, Mei and Yao. Likewise," the blue-eyed blonde introduced them.

"Nice to meet you," Prince Matthew greeted. There was a hint of apprehension he couldn't mask, Kiku noted with alarm.

"Settle down, settle down," Prince Alfred ensured that his guests were seated before he gave a signal to the aide standing next to the platform. The aide brought out a small bell and hit it.

The musicians paused. The occupants of the ballroom were called to attention immediately, their eyes trained on the Crown Prince of the Empire.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Prince Alfred began, "I hope you're enjoying your time. As you know, today's ball is held for three very special guests from House Wang of the East. Let's extend our warm welcome to them!"

The court applauded and posed empty smiles, their eyes appraising. The scrutiny pricked Kiku's sensed and nearly paralyzed him with fear, if not for the grip Yao ni-ni had around his hand. "Smile," the petite begetter grounded from the side of his lips.

"And now," thankfully, Prince Alfred diverted his court's attention away. "A short piece of performance has been prepared to demonstrate our excitement at their presence. Let us sit back and enjoy!"

At the musicians' corner, a white grand piano had been set up. The bespectacled brunet Kiku had thought of as Prince Alfred's guardian when they visited House Wang had settled behind the piano, long fingers poised over the keys. Standing by the side of the piano was Kirkland, a violin held in his left hand. Upon the announcement, he bowed and positioned the instrument on his shoulder.

The song they played was light and joyous. The sound the duo produced was very pleasant to the ears. Halfway through the song, at the chorus, Kirkland started singing. And the tenor of his voice was _gorgeous_. The even timbre, the accuracy of the pitch, the expressiveness, they were perfect. They weren't amateurs, Kiku realized. No servant, no matter how talented, could match up to, let alone complement a Duke. Kirkland wasn't a mere commoner Prince Alfred had taken a liking to.

And since the start of the performance, Prince Alfred had been watching Kirkland raptly, blue eyes following the movements of his fingers, the rise and fall of his diaphragm and the minute changes in his expression as he _enjoyed_ his piece, Prince Alfred's expression full of admiration and adoration. Once in a while, those blue eyes strayed to the pianist and his gaze turned to a glare when he noticed the two performers giving each other non-verbal signals. The monarch was completely smitten, and poor at hiding it.

"Bravo!" Alfred rose to his feet and clapped loudly the moment the performance ended. "What a superb performance!" The court followed, some more reluctantly and dutifully, some more appreciatively and genuinely. _He's trying to get them to accept Kirkland_, Kiku deduced as he applauded, less enthusiastically than Mei, more respectfully than Yao ni-ni's modest response. Killing two birds with one stone; how…cunning. Kiku didn't expect this from the idealistic Prince.

What ensued was a blur of actions; hundreds of meaningless pleasantries as the Prince introduced his three guests to various high-ranking nobles in his court, Kiku struggling as Yao ni-ni charmed the _strangers_ with grace and witty conversation, while courtiers reacted favourably to Mei's friendliness. Despite having piles of food stretched out in a buffet at one corner of the room, Kiku didn't have the chance to eat much. Then there were dances. Lots of dances. Two songs with Prince Alfred, one with his twin, and several with his nobles. His kimono and high-heeled geta weren't exactly easy to move in, but this wasn't what bothered Kiku the most.

It was the way Prince Alfred held Kirkland as they danced, longer than the socially acceptable two songs, gloved fingers rubbing the small of the begetter's thinly clothed back, the way they stared into each other's eyes, the whispers and quiet chuckles they shared as Prince Alfred rested in his chair, Kirkland standing next to him. The intimacy.

Kiku might be one of the stars of the event, but he was just a trophy to be shown off.

(And all the while, he felt's Yao ni-ni's stare on the back of his neck.)

When the ball nobles started trickling out of the door, Prince Alfred walked along with them for the length of one corridor. "I hope you've enjoyed it," he smiled.

"The food can be better," Yao ni-ni remarked flippantly. Mei giggled. Kiku only smiled politely. "I have. Thank you," he answered.

"Good night," with a wave, the blue-eyed blonde turned to the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner, his twin and Kirkland on his heels.

(Later, much later, as Yao ni-ni lounged on his back with the maid, Xin, massaging his propped up feet, with Kiku sitting behind the vanity, removing his make-up methodically, the older begetter picked up on his unhappiness.

"He didn't call us here coz he wants us," he reminded his charge, his voice sounded loud in the silence of the room. "We are a means to an end."

'_And we all know who that 'end' is,'_ was the unspoken statement.)

TBC

* * *

><p>Review Please! This is officially the last chapter I have written. You may have a long wait ahead since I'm going to be terribly busy till 12 March.<p>

Long note is long. Only in Hetalia:

1. Hao le: "Okay" in Mandarin.

2. Nine days was the time it takes for royal couriers to cross 2,857 km of the Persian Royal Road in 400s BC. Today, it takes 13 days for a freight train from Guangzhou or Shanghai to reach Germany. wikipedia .org/wiki/Silk_Road

3. Urban spatial structures follow models. West's capital follows a zonal model, with ringed, web-like roads. wikipedia .org/wiki/Urban_structure

4. The White House is 18 acres (52 acres with the President's Park). Buckingham has 40-acre garden and 77K meter square palace. Bonnefoy Castle's 50 acres area seems pretty comparable. The Forbidden City is 178 acres, but 3000 concubines used to live there. Alfred won't even have 100, so he won't need 178 acres.

5. I can't really differentiate faces of certain races other than mine (Chinese). Am I the only person experiencing this?

6. Furisode is a formal kimono characterized by its long, long (around 1m) sleeves, made of very fine, bright-coloured silk. Furisode are worn by young women, signaling that they are of age and therefore eligible for marriage. wikipedia .org/wiki/Furisode

7. Okobo is a type of wooden sandals, worn by geisha with a very fancy kimono. wikipedia .org/wiki/Geta_(footwear)

8. Flower-bowl shoes are shoes with pedestal platforms that force the wearer (mostly Manchurian women in late 19th Century) to walk in tiny steps, to mirror the way Chinese women with bound feet walked, which males used to find desirable. Images of the flower-bowl shoes can be found here: http:/ www . footwearhistory . com / lotusconstruction . shtml.

9. Totally inspired by http:/ static. zerochan . net / full / 49 / 29 / 946499 . jpg. The design is ripped off from Shiki's art. Only this Arthur's robe is long-sleeved and high-collared, of course, to hide his scars.


	20. Chapter 2,13,4: Showdown

A/N: You ended up having to wait three months for this short update, didn't you? I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THAT! This chapter has been VERY hard to write…and it's almost like a filler (I swear what I'm writing about is unrealistic! I could never stomach watching a parliamentary debate) but 2.14 (Drama, Ivan, Drama, Arthur's pregnancy, Drama and did I mention Drama?) should be easier to write. Thank you for sticking with me!

Chapter 2.13.4: Showdown

"Has he-"

"Memorized his speech? Yes, he has," Roderich answered seemingly calmly as he flipped through his papers. Notes of Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata. Soothing to his mind, though slightly melancholic. His nervousness, however, was shown in the way he fiddled with the hem of his no-nonsense starched cotton black robe. The style of his clothes was so starkly somber, so different from the way Arthur remembered the way he dressed as the Edelweiss (Francis' most practical Honoured Consort), in ivory, violet, fine frills and bellowing velvet.

Arthur continued wearing the carpet thin with his pacing (a fine Southern carpet, a terrible loss if ruined, Roderich mourned). "What about what he's going to we-"

"They've been carefully selected. Xin had washed and ironed them," Roderich's voice rose slightly. He was losing his patience, Arthur could tell, but Arthur couldn't help but worry.

Sensing this, Roderich put down his notes, his preferred way of calming himself, stood up and placed a hand on the other begetter. "We've prepared so much for this," he spoke patiently, "we're going to be fine."

Arthur stared into the eyes of the bespectacled noble who'd, time and time, come to his rescue. "I sincerely hope so."

"Arthur!" The green-eyed blonde looked up to find Prince Alfred entering the make-shift waiting room, looking somewhat harried, his eyes bloodshot. "I didn't sleep well," the younger blonde gasped as he reached out to his spouse, one bearish hand holding a thin forearm. "I'm so nervous."

Now it was Arthur's turn to shallow his anxiety and muster his best reassuring smile. "I believe in you," he kissed the monarch's cheek and whispered against his skin.

Roderich gave the couple some time for themselves before announcing, "it's almost time."

So began one of the longest wait in Arthur's life.

* * *

><p>"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Duke Dubois' voice boomed across the large atrium. "First of all, thank you for your attendance today. As the chairperson, I would like to call this meeting in order," he spread his arms in a gesture as he formally opened the meeting.<p>

Immediately, the noise died down as representatives of noble Houses in the Empire, all dressed alike in baggy black court robes, settled on the rows of wooden, cushioned seats arranged on the terrace-structure of the flooring of the semicircular room. At the non-voting bloc, Kiku sat primly on his seat, his clenched fists hidden in the folds of the long sleeves of his gold furisode. He was too worried to feel anything when he noticed, belatedly, Kirkland's absence. Mei and Yao ni-ni sat at his sides, eying the proceeding with enthusiasm and disinterest respectively.

"An important hallmark of our Empire's history had just passed barely months ago," the Duke continued with his speech, "the coming of age of Prince Alfred and Prince Matthew, sons of our late Emperor Francis II, and the first in line to the throne."

Duke Dubois paused. "The reign of our Honourable Emperor Francis II had been marked with much cultural and economic development," the politician made sure to walk around the stage and look into the eyes of the nobles who hadn't been living in the capital much, as he listed the achievement of the court of the former Emperor one by one. He ended the list with a glance to the currently regent, who was twitching in his seat edgily, looking down at the other noble with a cold, unreadable stare.

"Of course, we mustn't forget to extend our deepest gratitude to Lord Orleans for having been our Regent for over half a decade," Duke Dubois directed a diplomatic smile at the older male. Roderich couldn't help smirking in amusement behind his gloved hand as he watched the man he'd finally won through nights of negotiation conducting the theatrics effortlessly. "Thank you so much for preserving stability and building on the successes of our ancestors, bringing glory to the Bonnefoy Dynasty." Duke Dubois was a materialistic man (rather like Orleans himself), but he knew how to carry himself.

"And with the coming of age of the Princes, you can be rest assured that Bonnefoy Dynasty will continue to prevail." The chair of the meeting returned to the podium. He didn't let the Regent say anything. "Now, let us give the floor to Prince Alfred Franklin Jones Bonnefoy, a _true heir_ of the West."

The young blue-eyed blonde took his cue and made his way to the podium, a charming smile on his face. "Thank you, Your Grace," he spoke confidently and stepped up to address his people. On his handsome face, there was no hint of the breakdown Roderich nearly witnessed if not for Prince Matthew's low-voiced continuous encouragement and the hand he'd let his twin mangled in a white-knuckled grip. "Gentlemen," Prince Alfred addressed the crowd, "Your Graces. You have served the court since before I was born, worked with my father and my grandfathers. First, I would like to acknowledge…"

Roderich let himself drift away from his ex-step son's speech. It was very apparent now that Alfred was Francis' son. He had the late ruler's handsomeness, confidence and his natural ability to dazzle his audience into supporting him without even caring what he was saying (and to charm those who actually cared about the words; well, leave that to Roderich to draft the script and discipline Alfred into remembering it, shall we). Alfred also had Francis' idealism, and stubbornness, apparently.

_Better not go there_, Roderich shook his head inwardly.

"I plead you to give me this chance to serve the Empire, and be of use to our beloved people," Prince Alfred ended, and Roderich let a few seconds passed for the audience to fully comprehend the content of the rally, before he started clapping discreetly. Some of the lords who had pledged allegiance followed suit, and before long, the audience was energized. "Hail the true heir of Bonnefoy Dynasty!" Some of Duke Dubois' planted men began, and half the crowd repeated the chant.

Of course, Duke Orleans wasn't going down without a fight. Roderich wasn't expecting him to.

"Grandson," the tall man stood up and walked to the centre of the stage, his hands clapping loudly and evenly, but the smile on his face was almost patronizing. "I am glad that you feel such love for this Empire, my boy," it was clear what his key argument would be: Alfred's youth and inexperience. "It is an honour for Bonnefoy Dynasty to have such a dedicated heir." And Duke Orleans, like Duke Dubois, wasn't a fool. He knew that denying Alfred's right to the throne would get him nowhere.

"We should start by giving you a post in the army or in the administration, don't you agree?" Duke Orleans touched the younger blonde's shoulder (_stop glaring at him, Alfred,_ Roderich tried to signal to him subtly, and gritted his teeth when the boy did not look his way,_ show better sportsmanship, won't you?_) before he turned around to address the crowd. "Leading an Empire as big and as old as ours takes skills and experience. It would be better for you to learn slowly, and take the throne once you are better prepared, wouldn't it?"

Ah, he'd cut to the chase. Lovely. Roderich knew Alfred's grandfather was not a patient man (rather like his grandson, actually).

"That is one school of thought," Roderich stood up and jumped into the game. "But what better way is there to learn how to swim than to let the boy dive into the waters?" He approached the trio on the stage and stood next to the Prince, a visible display of support. While he was at it, he tapped the boy's hand once and cleared his throat, tugging one corner of his lip up behind his fist once the boy finally looked at him. The Prince flushed lightly and stopped looking murderous. _That's better,_ Roderich sighed inwardly.

"Besides," Duke Dubois took his position on Alfred's other side, "the Prince would have us, loyal courtiers, to guide him. Won't we?" He smiled and directed the rhetoric to the rest of the crowd.

_There would be more power for us in this green Emperor's court. _The implication of the statement did not go over anyone's head.

Duke Orleans responded with a chuckle. "Let me be blunt," he turned around addressed the crowd again, "for centuries, Princes had taken the throne after their fathers. The strongest, the smartest, the fittest Princes amongst all, I mean," he gave Alfred a pointed glance. "Our circumstance is an anomaly, I know. Regretfully, my daughter and my son-in-law died young." He bowed his head for a while, whether out of his sorrow for his daughter or for show, Roderich couldn't tell. "Precisely because Prince Alfred had not had any competition that would otherwise have sharpened his abilities, it is of utmost importance that he gains some experience first."

'_And how would we know whether you would hand the throne at all?_' the thought was shared by some of the minds inside the room, and Prince Alfred certainly looked like he was about to voice the question in an accusatory manner. Roderich tightened his fingers around the boy's hand.

"I agree with Duke Orleans' points," the silence was broken by the Marquis who had been in that late night meeting, who had said that Alfred's future Empress Consort belonged to the Empire as well. The blue-eyed Prince began to direct his resentment to the elderly noble. "However," he returned Alfred's glare with a level stare, "I propose that once every year, His Highness be tested and given a chance to showcase how much he's grown, to prove that he is ready to take up the throne. I suggest that the test be drafted and judged by a panel of Ministers from the Small Council [1]."

Nobody could argue against that, Roderich mused. And it was, indeed, perfectly reasonable. If that brat of an ex-step son of his wasn't that stubborn, that was.

"What did you take me for!" Suddenly, Wang Yao stood up and strutted to the stage, his bowl-heeled shoes clacking loudly against the wooden platform, his hands on his waist. "I refused to be married to just some Prince who has no certainty of taking up the throne!" He narrowed his catlike amber eyes and jabbed Prince Alfred on his broad chest.

The only way to fight logic was, well, with indignity. With anger and pride, things utterly irrational logic was useless. Wang Yao, of course, knew this. His eyes flashed to Roderich for the merest moment, as though saying, _you owe me for this_.

Roderich gave him the smallest of nods.

"I'm wasting time here! Kiku, Mei, let's go away!" He exclaimed to the non-voting bloc.

"Huh? But-" Mei looked like she was about to protest, but Kiku, who'd been observing the game closely, stood up and acquiescent. "I understand, Yao ni-ni." He gave the Oriental girl a squeeze. 'Just do as ni-ni says,' he whispered. 'Trust him'

"You Westerners can kiss the free-trade agreement of coals good bye! I can't believe it, being played around like this-" Yao fumed and headed towards the exit.

"Wait, wait," Duke Dubois played his part, reacting fast on his feet. "His Highness is worthy of taking up the throne this year, right fellow courtiers?" he spoke to the crowd as his extended hand blocked the petite Easterner. "And we promise that we will assist him to the best of our capabilities, right?"

There was a second of quietness, before some of the men took the cue. "Hail the true heir!" the chant began again. "The throne belongs to His Highness. It is just a matter of time!" someone from the crowd quipped, and at least a quarter of the court, those Roderich had struck bargains with, voiced their agreement. "Why wait? Prince Alfred is ready!"

Duke Orleans' supporters struggled back. "Our Regent is right! He only wants the best for his grandson and the Empire," his current Prime Minister argued, but they were grossly outnumbered.

Throughout the heightening atmosphere, Duke Orleans' blue eyes (the same shade as his grandson's) widened slightly as he looked around his court, the people who had served him and had been so eager to gain his favours previously. Those eyes finally landed on Alfred and Roderich, shifting between the two when his lips curled to an ugly, ugly snarl.

"You've bought them," he spoke sinisterly as he walked closer to the blonde monarch, the fruit of his daughter's womb, "What did you promise them, huh? Positions? Money? Aren't you a cunning brat?" His hand reached out to hold the Prince's chin. "You're no better than me, _boy-_"

Roderich stepped in between them as Alfred flinched. "Your Grace, if you are done with your speech, perhaps we can proceed with the voting?"

"There is no need for a voting, Duke Edelstein," the older noble sneered. "You're playing dirty. I'll play dirty as well. I promise you I will have your throne, I will get it by force." He got out of the conference hall in a flurry of robes, a handful of his staunch supporters hot on his heels.

"What did he mean?" Prince Alfred clutched the bespectacled brunet's wrist in a bruising grip, "What did he mean, 'by force'?"

"It's not for you to worry about, not yet," Roderich sighed again. "In the meantime, congratulations, Your Majesty." He gave the hand holding his limb captive a pat.

The monarch responded with a tight-lipped smile, his face gradually losing colours.

Less than an hour later, after everyone settled back down on his seat and the votes had been counted, Alfred _won_ the battle (he was not a Prince anymore, he was an Emperor – Emperor Alfred, how beautiful the title sounded), but it was a victory tinged with fear.

TBC

Note: 1. The small council is borrowed from Game of Thrones of course!


	21. Chapter 2,14,1: The Coronation

A/N: Reply to Rocy: Thanks for the review! Haha no 'Future' arc planned yet, seeing as I'm still stuck in the 'Past'. Hopefully after 3-4 more chapters I can get back to the 'Present'. The unstable part of Alfred, I'll be working on bring a happy ending to that, but the flawed part…every human being is flawed right?

A/N2: To remind ourselves

Arthur's age at this point in time: 21 years old (Arthur is 7 years older than Alfred)

Alfred's age at this point in time: about 14.5 years old

And…I'm breaking 2.14 to smaller parts again. So sorry!

* * *

><p>Chapter 2.14.1: Trials and Tribulations: The Coronation<p>

These days, the tension in the air was so palpable it could cut the atmosphere like knife through butter.

After the longest two hours of his life, Arthur saw his husband finally emerging from the door of the waiting room. The younger blonde had sported an ecstatic grin on his face, but his eyes; there were something lurking there, something not related to happiness and excitement at all, something not quite right. But before Arthur could take a closer look, he'd been enveloped into a tight hug, the grip on his shoulders almost painful.

As Arthur patted the Prince's back, the former slave stole a glance at Roderich, who'd entered the room after the monarch, green eyes imploring. The bespectacled brunet gave a small nod, mouthing, 'later.'

Alfred's paranoia kept increasing by the day it seemed. He'd tightened his own security by the triple, and ordered a few soldiers to follow Arthur so closely the begetter could always find them standing on his shadows. Arthur was really, really unnerved at having absolutely no privacy at all (even Xin, who was at his beck and call, didn't breathe down on his neck like that), but whenever he saw how scared Alfred was (though he always denied it), Arthur always relented.

Duke Edelstein, who handled the matter a lot more calmly, managed to pinpoint the threat through his spies.

"There has been an increased level of correspondence between Duke Orleans' residence and House Mikhalkov of the North," Roderich reported amidst preparations for the Coronation, wondering if Duke Orleans ever regretted that momentary lapse of judgment during his defeat. It wasn't terrible smart of him to have warned Prince Alfred of an impending offence, or his intention to win back the throne. He had deprived himself the element of surprise.

'_But then again,_' Roderich took one look at the Emperor he was supposed to serve, noting the bags underneath Alfred's eyes and the exhausted slump of his body, the jittery way his finger tap on the table. '_May be Duke Orleans intends to run Alfred ragged while taking his own sweet time to build up his army,_' Roderich thought dryly.

(Roderich and Vash had been selected into the Small Council [1] as Prime Minister [2] and Minister for Finance. The two of them had expressed much displeasure over the appointment; _Roderich had no interest in politics thank you very much_. But then again, considering Duke Dubois would be Alfred's Minister for Justice, and the other Ministers in the Council were people who had been – and could be once again – bought by money and power, Roderich succumbed to Arthur's pleading gaze)

Prince Alfred shifted uncomfortably on his seat behind the large mahogany desk on his new, big office. "What should we do next?"

Roderich sighed inwardly. This habit better not be carried forward to the future; Roderich didn't want to be Prime Minister forever. "Other than maintaining the strength of our army, nothing," he answered and explained his speculations. "We should proceed with the Coronation as planned [3]."

The Prince bit his nail before he leaned on the back of his chair and closed his eyes. "All right," he murmured.

"Please excuse me, then, Your Highness," the Duke bowed, and Alfred waved his hand dismissively to let him know he could leave.

In the silence between Alfred's appointments, the blonde teenager couldn't help but let his gaze stray over the windows, looking over the greeneries of his garden, and the city beyond the walls. '_I have made the right choice,'_ he told himself. '_I have made the right choice.'_

* * *

><p>The Coronation was a grand affair, even grander than the mockery of a wedding Arthur was a part of years ago. Foreign dignitaries and representatives of Houses and their spouses had been invited, and Arthur was sure that the Cathedral would be filled to the brim.<p>

Already prepared for the day in thick, flowing tresses of fine fabric and frills (again, after half a decade), Arthur sneaked Alfred a visit. He was worried about the blue-eyed blonde; Alfred had been subdued for weeks.

He found the blonde standing still as his helpers dressed him, his face turned to the window, staring at something in a distance.

"Milord," some of the helpers noticed him standing at the doorway and greeted him.

Alfred turned to him, the beginning of irritation showing on his expression until he realized who his guest was. "Arthur," his smile lit up his whole face, and the tautness of his spine visibly relaxing.

"Alfred," Arthur relished the way he could call the other's name openly. He sidestepped some of the helpers as he walked closer to the blue-eyed blonde, returning his smile. Alfred reached out and Arthur let him have his hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Leave us," the monarch instructed his helpers without moving his gaze from Arthur's face. The servants obeyed wordlessly. Before long, there were only two of them in Alfred's bedchamber. "I'm fine," the Prince whispered, their faces inching closer to each other.

They shared a chaste kiss, dry, closed lips pressing affectionately before Arthur cupped the younger male's cheek. "You look gorgeous."

He did. Swathed in majestic royal blue shirt, gold and silver embroidery and accessories littering his broad torso, a cape of fur-lined red velvet. A little cliché, but not anyone could pull it off as well as Alfred [4].

Alfred replied with a wry smile. "It's really stuffy, even though the weather isn't exactly hot anymore."

Arthur gave the young Emperor-to-be a fond pat on his shoulder. "You'll do well," he spoke with so much sincerity Alfred almost believed him.

Almost.

* * *

><p>The only thing that kept Alfred from bolting out of the Cathedral was his recollection of Arthur's visit that morning.<p>

For one moment, Alfred thought he was transported back in time, back to a particular memory he remembered vividly; they were at Alfred's and Matthew's birthday party, his last one before Mother fell sick. Arthur was dressed up nicely. His red-haired brother was teasing him, ruffling his gelled-back hair and Arthur snarled at the larger man. Alfred stepped in, defending Arthur from his annoying brother, and Arthur smiled at him. Arthur's smile was so natural, so beautiful. At the smile on the green-eyed blonde's face that morning resembled the treasure he'd buried so deep in his mind Alfred nearly cried.

On his knees, in front of the altar, Alfred forced himself to focus on the words coming out of the Master of the Ceremony's lips, rather than the gazes of thousands on his back. The Prince had never felt nervous about taking up the throne. He was born to be an Emperor, it'd been a fact since his father died before any other Princes were born (_Matthew was…different. When anyone looked at the twin, they assumed Alfred would be Emperor. Not Matthew_).

But before the struggle against his grandfather (_the hours of debate and preparations, nights of feeling unsafe in his own home_), Alfred had never realized the burden that came with the privilege. He used to think that, once he was Emperor, everyone would obey him [5]. But that didn't seem to be true anymore.

Suddenly, he felt _scared_.

"Alfred Franklin Jones Bonnefoy," the High Priest's voice broke through the panic, and the Prince looked up, his heart hammering rapidly in his throat. The elderly man in the long, white robe held a staff over the teenager's right shoulder as he spoke. "Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Empire, and your Possessions and the other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs [6]?"

Alfred froze. He knew the words he was supposed to say, but his tongue and his lips refused to move, so great was the weight of the promise. Seconds ticked away as he tried to wrestle against his sudden muteness.

'_This is the right decision_,' he told himself, the final push he needed before finally, finally he could speak the words. "I solemnly promise to do so."

The Priest continued, "Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

Alfred's second answer was steadier. "I will."

The Priest removed the staff from his shoulder and his assistants brought the Book of Truth and the parchment where the Oath was inked on its right, both close to Alfred's forehead. "Affirm your Oath."

Alfred took a deep breath and placed his right hand on the Book. "I swear to the peoples of the Empire that I will always observe and uphold the Law. I swear that I will defend and preserve, with all My power, the independence and territories of the Empire; that I will protect the freedom and the rights of all the citizens, and will employ for the maintenance and promotion of the welfare, all the means which the laws place at My disposal, as a good and true Emperor should do. So help me, God Almighty."

He ended by kissing the Book, and signing the parchment.

The two artifacts were taken away from him. The Priest tapped his shoulders with the staff again. Alfred watched the Priest's shadows, waiting in anticipation as the shape of his arms joined the outline of a lumpy object from another shadow next to him. Alfred felt the Priest bending down before a weight settled on his head, heavy and precarious and filling Alfred with dread.

"I now proclaim you Emperor," the His Priest declared.

Alfred rose to his feet and turned to the Congregation. They, too, rose to their feet, and bowed their heads solemnly as he walked down the aisle, out of the Cathedral, proceeding to the Castle where the reception was going to be held.

On his way out, Alfred caught the eyes of Arthur, sitting at the second row with the other four people whom he had appointed as his flowers. The begetter shot him a smile.

Alfred told himself he couldn't return it because he was walking too quickly.

* * *

><p>The reception was an even more tiring affair.<p>

Alfred stared at the five figures in front of him: Yao, Kiku, Mei and Marquis Dubois' daughter, kneeling side by side in a row, their heads bowed, and Arthur in the same posture in front of them. There were attendants standing next to the three begetters, holding a decorated bowl of a fresh-smelling yellow-brown potion on a silver tray each [7].

The sight filled Alfred with much conflicting feelings. On one hand, he and Arthur were really going to be official; Arthur wasn't just Alfred's publicly acknowledged first 'mistress' as a Prince [8] (which had allowed Arthur to be seated on Alfred's right since the beginning of the reception, instead of after this little ceremony; something that granted Arthur a form of seniority over the others). On the other hand, he wasn't really thrilled about the four behind him.

Nevertheless, Alfred was cut off his internal distress when Arthur began his vow. "I, Arthur," he paused, seeming to stumble over the lack of his surname, "affirm that I will honestly and faithfully serve and obey His Majesty Emperor Alfred, with all my heart, my body and my life." He then rose, reached out for the bowl and drank the liquid in few clean gulps, his face barely reacting to the infamously sour and bitter taste of the concoction.

Alfred couldn't help but smile fondly. "I affirm that I will care for you, with all my heart, my body and my life," he'd modified his own vows, but heck, nobody would kill him for this. He offered his hand. "Arthur, I now bestow you the title of a Noble Consort, my most beloved Rose."

The proffered hand was taken shyly, and this time Alfred smiled as he took the older blonde back to the seat next to his throne.

The rest proceeded in similar fashion, albeit using the word 'promise' instead of 'affirm', and in addition to bestowing them their titles (Noble Consorts Peony and Lilac [9], Imperial Concubines Chrysanthemum and Plum), Alfred also imparted them their headdresses (Arthur's headdress was already in place since before Alfred was Emperor). Marquis Dubois' daughter batted her lashes at him, but he merely nodded at her politely and led her to the seat next to Yao, ignoring the petite begetter's glare on him when Kiku was guided to sit next to Arthur.

(_They were as pretty as their titles, Alfred's flowers. Dolled up in colourful, flattering gowns and traditional costumes, silky hair styled according to the latest fad framing lovely faces, rouged lips and long-lashed large eyes tempting. Alfred's guests were envious of the Emperor but for once, the boy didn't seem to notice_.)

Next was the appointment of the Ministers of his Small Council. Duke Edelstein, Lord Zwingli, Marquis Dubois and several other men had each sworn his Oath with his right hand across his chest and one knee on the floor, their nearly uniformed sensible robes as somber as their expressions. Alfred confirmed their titles and bid them to enjoy the banquet.

After that, Alfred sat on his frigging chair, wearing that beautiful, extravagant, _two-pound_ crown (a base of four crosses pattée alternating with four fleurs-de-lis, above which were four half-arches surmounted by a cross, with a velvet cap with an ermine border, studded with 2,868 diamonds, 273 pearls, 17 sapphires, 11 emeralds, and 5 rubies [10]), receiving everyone's gift and superficial congratulatory greeting for _hours_. Matthew, his staunch supporter, helped him when he was too fed up to keep the smile on his face. He feasted, danced, and acted merry, and at the end of the day, he simply collapsed and let himself be tucked into his bed.

The first day after he was crowned, his Empire was invaded.

TBC

* * *

><p>VERY LONG Notes:<p>

1. I'm still confused about absolute monarchy or constitutional monarchy, even though in one of the previous chapters I mentioned that the Empire is ruled by constitutional monarchy. In any case I copied some things from the concept of Small Council in the Game of Thrones.

In this AU, Ministers in the Small Council have the duty to execute policies. They have decision-making rights within their own scope of responsibilities (e.g. buy weapons for the army, repair bridges, all within limits stated in the Constitution). The Constitution can be changed in one of two ways: 75% vote from the parliament or the Emperor's decision (kinda like Special Resolution to amend a company's Articles of Association, heh. My accounting background always comes through doesn't it). The Emperor has power equivalent to that of a President in modern-world democracy (or a CEO). (So is that absolute or constitutional? Idk, somehow I have the impression that constitutional = monarch only having ceremonial duties, which is not the case here).

2. Prime Minister is the equivalent of 'Hand of the King', or rather, the Vice President.

3. Historically, when a King/Emperor died when his heir was too young, the young heir would have been made a boy King/Emperor anyway, ruling 'together' with his Regent(s). In this story, a boy Emperor didn't come into the picture. Instead, the Regent ruled alone for 6 years, courtesy of his money well-spent.

4. You know how some people look good in suits and some people aren't? Yeah, I'm talking about that.

5. Joffrey Baratheon ahaks

6. Based on Queen Elizabeth II's Coronation Oath: wiki/Oath_of_office. I took away the last paragraph that pertained to the Church of England and replaced it with King of Netherland's Oath, because I don't want to use an oath that is too religious in nature.

7. This is basically a spermicide, a folk remedy from lemon juice essence, mint, lactic acid and other dubious, but apparently effective things. wiki/Spermicide. The spermicide will ensure that the male organs of these begetters won't impregnate anyone in the Harem. Traditionally, no males were allowed in Harems; concubines were served by eunuchs. So to ensure that any baby born in the Harem is truly the Emperor's in this AU, some control measures-cum-traditions had existed for centuries. Not that begetters get raunchy and want to top each other, but every concubine wants to bear sons for the Emperor and secure his/her position as the future Empress Dowager, you know the drill.

The begetters could still ejaculate (i.e. they don't become impotent, because that may affect the Emperor's sexual enjoyment), but the semen would be pretty clear/devoid of sperms. The effect of this concoction is not permanent; it has to be taken monthly, rather like birth control pills. But if taken too regularly, this may take a toll on a begetter's ability to impregnate others (Roderich and Elizabeta cough cough).

8. As far as I know, Princes of Qin Dynasty can take mistresses/concubines as well. But that's because that privilege is actually not restricted to royalty; any man with enough money could take more than one wife in Ancient China. Alfred's practice – taking in concubines before having a legally recognized wife (Empress Consort) – is considered strange, but he's Emperor, and people prefer this to Alfred appointing Arthur as Empress Consort, so they let it be.

9. Lilac is Marquis Dubois' daughter. AND YES Dubois is a Marquis instead of a Duke...I completely forgot that I wrote him as a Marquis in the earlier parts of chapter 2...at 2.3 or 2.4 around there.

10. Modeled after St. Edward's Crown: wiki/Imperial_State_Crown


	22. Chapter 2,14,2: Trials and Tribulations

Chapter 2.14.2: Trials and Tribulations: A Happening Banquet

Due to Duke Edelstein's impeccable planning, nothing changed in the Capital.

Although House Orleans's ancestral home was located barely a hundred miles southwest of the heart of the Empire (five times closer to the Capital than the former House Kirkland's ancestral home, Arthur noted duly), the attack didn't originate from there; it clearly came from the North, actually. May be Duke Orleans did not dare to risk damaging his ancestral home. May be Duke Orleans wanted to trap the Capital from two sides. In any case, Duke Edelstein had had ten thousands of able-bodied men, both from his wife's House's famed army and the Empire's barracks, stationed around the Capital and sent to the areas of conflicts. He'd even secured emergency lines of trade for necessities like staples and fuels; better prepared than sorry, as the saying went.

"There would be no need for you to be in the battlefield, Your Majesty," the bespectacled brunet had answered, rather loudly, in the Emperor's first small council meeting, as they discussed about the war and what Alfred's first edict should be [1].

"It'll be good for boosting the morale of the army," Lord Carriedo, reinstated Master of Ships [2] mentioned.

"It's only been a few days," Roderich raised his brow. Lord Carriedo ought to have hated Duke Orleans for driving one of his heirs, Antonio, into hiding. That he made a comment that didn't make sense; Roderich did not know what to make of it. "Our army is still doing well. The evacuated citizens are as happy as they can be. There is no need to compromise His Majesty's safety unnecessarily."

The olive-eyed male merely shrugged. "Let's get back to the edict, then."

A little over a week since the invasion started, a messenger turned up in the courtroom, looking rather pale. In normal situations, courtiers got jumpy every time a messenger showed up. This messenger's bloodless face did not sit very well in Alfred's stomach. "What happened?" he was almost afraid to ask.

"Y-your Majesty," his subject gave him a rather stiff bow. "I-I come bearing a message f-from…" he took a deep breath, "Prince Ivan of Braginski Dynasty," he finished the sentence in a rush.

"A Braginski?" A royalty from the very Empire that had attacked them. Alfred thanked the Gods he was already sitting. Rumours had it, this particular Prince was a bastard of the Emperor, born from an affair with Lady Arlovskaya. Normally bastard Princes were raised in the house the Ladies birthed them to [3], but Ivan's resemblance to the incumbent Emperor of the North was so uncanny their blood relation was undeniable. "What does he want?"

"T-the message says…t-that he is on his way here, Your Majesty. H-he apologises for having missed your coronation, but he would still like to congratulate you face to face…" once the messenger ended, his knees wobbled, his legs almost giving up on him it seemed.

Alfred bit back his automatic response that was 'face to face congratulations are not needed, thank you very much; please stay away from me' and peered at Roderich, who was standing next to the monarch, as though asking, 'now what?'

Alfred's dependence on him wasn't winning the Emperor any trust from his subjects, Roderich thought as he sent the boy a forced upward tug of his lips and an imperceptible nod.

Alfred read the signal correctly, and gulped visibly. "We should give him a warm welcome, then."

* * *

><p>"His Royal Highness, Ivan Braginski, sixteenth in line of succession to the throne of the North, and his entourage have arrived," the guards announced.<p>

Ivan Braginski was everything Alfred would expect from a Northerner, and everything he would not: a big-boned, seven-foot tall Prince, his skin so fair and his hair so white he looked more like a snowman than a human. His choice of clothing, a thick ankle-length beige cloak that had seen better days and did not fit the weather _at all_, did not help diminish his hulking, intimidating figure. Nobody could quite tell what his age was, but his chubby face, still not shed off his baby fats it seemed, and the childlike expression on his face, belayed how young he was, that he was still a teenager.

"Greetings, Emperor Alfred of Bonnefoy Dynasty," the royalty bowed as soon as he reached the centre of the medium-sized ballroom, rather intimate since only a few tables could be fit inside, yet it hosted a stage, making the venue appropriate to serving guests in a small banquet. "Late though they are, I hope you would still accept my sincerest congratulations and well-wishes for your reign," he stared at Alfred from under his bangs, pink lips moving smoothly over accented words.

_He had such a big nose_, Alfred noticed, despite the churning of his stomach, _whatever is visible of his skin is so pale it's almost translucent. _

"Thank you for your sincerity," he heard himself reply.

Ivan nodded before he turned to the entourage standing behind him. "Your Majesty, please meet my sisters, Katyusha and Natalie Arlovskaya [4]," not denying the rumours at all apparently, Ivan pointed at two lovely ladies. The one clothed in indigo gown was a perfect epitome of an Ice Queen, slim and tall with long straight platinum hair framing a lovely, _beautiful_ face, long-lashed almond-shaped eyes pointed and a little chilly. The other one was short-haired and bustier, with large, heavenly looking breasts her aquamarine blouse failed to contain, tantalizing cleavage spilling over her collar. The latter looked somewhat flustered. Both of them curtsied. "Your Majesty," they greeted him, the former's voice as cold as she looked.

Ivan looked pleased as he pulled on the arm of a shorter, slighter brown-haired man, looping a big bear arm around the brunet's shoulders. "And this is my banner man, Toris Laurinaitis," he chirped.

The smaller green-eyed man looked positively terrified. "C-co-congratulations, Y-your Majesty," he stuttered.

"Thank you," if Alfred had thought it strange, he didn't showcase it. He gestured at the empty chairs behind the long banquet table, which had been set for his guests. "Please take a seat, Your Highness, make yourself at home."

As they began to dine, Mei, in her ensemble of customary bright-coloured Eastern and Western fashion fused together, entered from the side and walked up to the Emperor. "Your Majesty," the pretty flower addressed her husband, "The Peony and Chrysanthemum are ready with the performance."

It was one of the flowers' duties to entertain guests of the Emperor. Roderich and Arthur did put up a performance for the Wang's when they first arrived, so this time the two had taken up the responsibility (or rather, Kiku volunteered, Mei responded enthusiastically and Yao stuck with them).

"Okay," the Emperor smiled, not giving it much thought (must be some stuffy music, he'd dismissed), "Let's have it."

Mei curtsied and walked back where she came from. The diners conversed as they waited, and were surprised when the lights were suddenly out. "Hey, what-" a buzz of outrage broke.

It died the moment tunes of a string instrument bounced off the walls of the dining hall. Yao could be seen on the left of the stage, his figure bathed by candlelight, poised behind a wide wooden contraption, long steel wires stretched across a series of ivory bridges. His face looked like a doll, sporting a serious expression as his fingers plucked deftly, his right and left hand moving in different tempos so fast it was overwhelming.

Alfred couldn't help but pay attention on the exotic music.

The sound was soon joined by a steady, low-pitched flute, pleasantly countering the strings' hurried notes. The lights returned to the room, gradually, and Alfred could see Mei standing on the right of the stage, her slender form adulating as she blew into the long, woodwind instrument her fingers were curled around. Alfred nearly choked when he abruptly realized that arousal was creeping into his mind as he watched the way she handled the bamboo. There was nothing lewd about it, yet he was so mesmerized…

Then Kiku appeared on the centre of the stage, swathed in baggy, long-sleeved kimono Alfred had often seen him wear, yet this must be the first time he'd seen this particular style. The wide golden belt holding the robe together was tied on the front, and the collars were pulled down so much of Kiku's slender shoulders and neck was shown, smooth skin gliding over muscles and the knobs of his spine as he danced gracefully, his limbs dragging through the air slowly, an act requiring intense concentration and complete control of one's body. He was an art in motion, his hands twirling and flipping two wide paper fans with wooden ribs in complicated moves with the expertise of a circus acrobat, never faltering as his feet, clad in high-heeled wooden sandals, glided across the stage. Glimpses of his thighs entered Alfred's view when Kiku's strides turned larger, his long legs taut, lean and creamy, but those flashes weren't enough, were never enough [6]. The lower part of Kiku's short, silky black hair was pulled up and fastened with dangling hair accessories, his nape teasing Alfred when the flower bent and cocked his head. And Kiku's eyes. Oh, his eyes; the black kohl extending the line of his sharp, cat-like eyes, blood red shadows deepening his lids.

Kiku met Alfred's stare, briefly, in the middle of the performance, the lower half of his face hidden by the fans, and the Emperor sucked his breath. He'd felt like those twin depthless dark pools had burned him, the heat going straight to his groin.

Alfred honestly didn't know where this arousal came from. Barely over ten days ago he was queasy at the thought of having anyone in his harem other than Arthur.

May be Alfred was too terribly nervous during the coronation, shaken by his recent discovery of how powerless he truly was, and frightened by the people he'd thought he knew. But in the ten days, he'd been observing Roderich closely throughout the crisis, and Alfred felt more assured day by day as he was able to correctly guess Roderich's plans and decisions more frequently. As Alfred realized that maybe he wasn't that bad at being a ruler, his former self was returning.

Something distracted Alfred from the periphery of his sight. He thought it was Lilac; the girl had been trying to catch his attention throughout the occasion, but when Alfred spared a glance, he was surprised to find that it was Arthur, who'd been tapping his finger restlessly. He looked slightly pale. Upon noticing Alfred's gaze on him, the Rose smiled, shook his head and made a gesture of loosening his collar. _I'm fine, just a bit stuffed_, he seemed to say.

Alfred shifted his attention back to the performance as the music reached a feverish pitch, Yao's hands a blur of pale skin and the gold of his fabric. Kiku danced as though he was a butterfly, flimsy wings fluttering frantically as the creature tried to escape an invisible danger, before the music climaxed like a huge wave crashing against rocky shores. Kiku dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut off.

Then, painstakingly, Kiku rose to his knees and raised his arms, his body curving backwards in a perfect arc till his head and the tips of his fingers touched the floor. He was breathless and pink-cheeked. It was so exotic Alfred could picture the Easterner arching flexibly _just like that in his bed as he gripped those thin hips and pounded hard into-_

"Bravo!" Alfred's fantasy was interrupted by Ivan's loud applause. The big-boned Northerner had rose to his feet and were clapping enthusiastically. "It was a wonderful performance, da?"

"Yes," the Emperor clapped too, his face flushed red, his bright blue eyes gleaming. "It was magical."

The trio bowed to the compliments before joining the rest at the table, the flowers taking their seats around their Emperor. The ambience of the dinner had completely changed, the air charged with tension. Most ministers ignored it nonchalantly, although some of them couldn't help but fidget uncomfortably.

"Your Majesty must be wondering why I insist on dropping you a visit, da?" Ivan broke the strange mood unexpectedly. "Especially since one of our Houses is working with yours on a coup?"

Alfred blinked at him incredulously, not knowing whether he loved the violet-eyed Northerner for his bluntness, or he was wary because apparently this royalty's mind didn't function as a normal person's mind should. Tentatively, he gave a nod that could be mistaken as something else when need be.

Ivan's lips curled eerily. "House Mikhalkov's actions were taken independently, da? Braginski Dynasty did not play any part in the coup at all. In fact, we did not condone it."

Alfred was one second away from breathing in relief. "Then-"

"But," the pale-skinned Prince interrupted, "it does not mean that Braginski Dynasty disapproves either."

The tension returned to the dining table, something of a different nature entirely. Alfred squared himself and clenched his fists tightly his nails were digging into his palm. "…What does Braginski Dynasty want?" he barely managed to dislodge the statement off his throat.

"Don't be so defensive," Ivan's expression had not changed at all throughout his blackmail. "It would be wonderful if you have a Braginski as your Empress Consort, da? Then we can assist you in warding off the coup."

Alfred's thoughts whirled at a thousand mile a minute. Roderich, who'd been trying to catch his gaze, waved the pocket watch clutched tightly in his hand at him. _Buy us some time_, he meant.

_I know,_ Alfred glared at him in frustration.

The interaction did not go unnoticed. "Braginski Dynasty cannot promise to stay out for long," Ivan added happily.

Alfred inhaled sharply. "I-" he opened his mouth without knowing what to say.

Thankfully, he was saved by the sound of a crash.

"Oh, God," Arthur blinked at the shards of the wine glass he'd let slip to the ground and the stain on his thick ivory-coloured robe. "I'm so sorry, that was terribly clumsy of me," he stood up to gather the mess, a napkin in his gloved hand, when Alfred saw the begetter's green eyes rolling to the back of his head before he crumpled and fell.

"Milord!" Arthur's lady-in-waiting cried and caught her master on her lap before he could hit the marble tiles and the broken pieces of glass.

"Get a doctor!" Alfred kneeled next to the older blonde. "Hurry!" he shouted.

Arthur didn't respond to the commotion, his body dead as a ragdoll.

He'd fainted.

TBC

* * *

><p>Review Please!<p>

Notes:

1. An Emperor's first edict is considered important in this AU. It sets the tone of his reign, so to speak.

2. Master of Ships: again, borrowed from Game of Thrones' small council, the head of the navy.

3. History says Henry VIII had many, many affairs, and sons out of wedlock, but the only one acknowledged was Edward.

4. Ukraine's human name, including her surname, is not known, though most people refer to her as Katyusha Braginskaya. I've decided to leave her out of royalty.

5. The instrument is a koto (.org/wiki/Koto_(instrument)). The flute is dizi .org/wiki/Dizi_(musical_instrument). The song I imagined them playing is Rin's Murasaki no Yukari, Futatabi (youtube .com/watch?v=wo4-mmiNoKA) without the drums.

6. Inspired by dances in 'Memoir of a Geisha'. The fan dance is on the second half, the slow dance in the first half. youtube .com/watch?v=Q1NL2RzugVE


	23. Chapter 2,15,1: Your Enemies are Inside

A/N: Late update is LATE. Like, two years late. I'm so sorry. I haven't exactly 'moved on' to another fandom…but I went through a huge change in my life…I started working on a job I'm not so good at (yet), and y'know after univ graduation a lot of friends move on (some moved away to different countries even). I have been so lonely (I haven't been having any regular contact with a close, genuine friend for almost a year) I entered into a relationship with an incompatible guy. Loneliness is…so depressing. And my job is very time-consuming. I'm in a vulnerable, confused state now. I don't know who I am, what I want out of life, how much suffering I can withstand, etc. Consequently, I hadn't been writing anything since Sept 2013. Last Monday I started again.

Chapter 2.15.1: Your Enemies are Inside

* * *

><p>Waiting had never felt neither this long nor this frustrating.<p>

At least that was what Roderich thought as he saw Emperor Alfred pacing back and fro ten feet away from the patient, wearing the exotic rug thin with his heels. He'd fussed too much the doctor had to politely tell him off, and after much shouting and pacifying, Roderich successfully dragged the monarch to the other end of the room and the doctor could finally start his inspection productively.

But not for long. The blue-eyed blonde literally catapulted himself to the flower when Arthur stirred and returned to the waking world with a weak moan, bloodshot green eyes standing out against the paleness of his face. "Arthur, Arthur," Alfred squeezed the begetter's hand. "How do you feel? Are you all right?" He bombarded.

The slighter blonde blinked profusely and rasped, "Dizzy…" he frowned.

Alfred turned to the middle-aged paramedic and asked frantically, "What's wrong with Arthur?"

"I haven't finished my diagnosis," the doctor reminded with an edge of annoyance to his voice. "Please sit down, Your Majesty," he gestured at a chair at the foot of the bed. The blue-eyed male obeyed grudgingly.

Meanwhile, Xin appeared with a glass of water perched on a tray. The doctor nodded. The servant wordlessly helped her master drink, one hand supporting his back and her other hand holding the glass steady. "Thank you, dear," Arthur smiled at her after he settled himself.

Alfred felt a stab of jealousy and glared at the maid.

There was a few seconds of silence as the doctor checked his patient's pulse, two thin fingers tapping against the blue veins of Arthur's inner wrist. "…Milord, when was the last time you had bled?" he asked in a calm, detached, professional tone.

Arthur looked confused for a while, before a burst of red coloured his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "…I can't recall," the flower squirmed. "…it's…always been rather irregular."

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but as his eyes searched his patient's face they discovered the mark at the base of the begetter's neck, and his mind clicked in comprehension. "I'm going to ask another private question, Milord. I apologise in advance," he spoke discreetly, his face still expressionless. "Have you consummated in the recent past?"

Emperor Alfred began to catch on.

Arthur's face turned impossibly redder before he gave a jerky nod.

"Then, I believe there is absolutely nothing wrong, Your Majesty" the doctor dusted his robe and rose to his feet, his assistant packing his tools as he bowed to his monarch and the flower. "Lord Rose, congratulations. You're pregnant."

* * *

><p>Arthur blinked as Alfred whooped in joy and swept the Rose into a tight hug that nearly made him swoon again. Arthur wanted to be as happy as his husband. They were having a baby, a possibility Arthur had long given up on when he entered slavery, though he dearly loved kids. He was having a baby with someone he loved, someone who could provide this baby a bright, secure future. This was a HUGE thing.<p>

But for some reasons, Arthur only felt uneasy.

Other nobles around the room started congratulating the couple. "Thank you!" Alfred remarked with an ecstatic grin. "I'm truly elated!"

"It is truly a happy occasion, Your Majesty," Prince Ivan, the VIP of the banquet that had been disrupted, had feigned concern for Arthur's well-being and insisted to wait at the Noble Consort's quarter. The big-boned begetter shook the Emperor's hand, his lips curling to a childlike uncanny smile. Ivan continued, "I wish that you will have a big and prosperous family."

Of course, Alfred understood what the Northerner was implying. "Thank you for your well-wishes," the Emperor responded, his face belaying none of the negative emotions he was feeling at that point in time, "if all is well, Arthur will bear the first Prince in my reign and be crowned Empress, as dictated by Bonnefoy Dynasty's tradition." He indirectly answered Prince Ivan's proposal.

"I see," Ivan's expression, too, was unwavering. "Regardless, I hope you would have me stay here, in your Palace, as an ambassador of the North. It is to both our Empires' benefits."

Which translated to: I would stick around and wait for something to happen. Alfred bristled inwardly.

Meanwhile, Arthur caught Xin's gaze and sent her a non-verbal cue. The Easterner turned to the doctor and coughed. "Milord, is there any medicines I should retrieve for my master from the royal pharmacy…?"

"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me," he took out a quill and a pad of papers. "And gentlemen, it would be greatly appreciated if you can vacate the room so that Lord Rose could have his rest," he announced in a louder voice.

The crowd wished the monarch and his consort good night, carrying conversations in hushed tones as they slowly exited.

"I'm prescribing you a couple of tonics to revitalize your strength and nourish the baby," the doctor pulled a sheet of paper from his pad and passed it to Xin as the aristocrats dispersed.

"Doctor," the pale flower called out weakly and grasped the paramedic's white robe as the latter turned to leave, "how long have I been pregnant…?" he whispered.

The doctor hummed in thought. "I can't be exact…" he folded his arms and rubbed his chin as he talked, "my estimate is…the foetus should be around ten to fifteen weeks."

Arthur's heart sunk to his stomach.

The doctor was wrong, he thought. There might be nothing right about this pregnancy.

* * *

><p>The Peony's chamber was one of the most frequented places in the harem.<p>

Within the couple of weeks of his servitude to the Noble Consort, Hong had seen more nobles in the petite begetter's living room than those he'd met in other manors he'd worked at over his whole life of slavery. Anyone, from servants and upstarts fighting for scrapes of power, to opportunistic barons and counts gleaming with gold accessories, could be seen gracing the round table where the flower often promised exchanges of favours.

The Peony wasn't averse to playing dirty to drive a hard bargain. From distracting his potential business partners with glimpses of expensive jewelry or skin peeking out of his Shanghai dresses as he crossed his legs languidly to fast and emotional threats of dropping the deal – Hong and Xin (who'd often been borrowed from the Rose to tend to the Easterners) had seen them all.

(_It had happened like this. Emperor Alfred, his flowers and some of his subjects were seated around the dining table, eating breakfast peacefully, when Peony barged through the door dramatically, his arms crossed. He slammed his palm on the table and shouted, "Your Westerner slaves are clumsy and ignorant! I demand for Easterner slaves who can serve me better!"_

_Alfred scrunched his brows in annoyance, his lips pressed to a thin line._

_Sensing that his Emperor was going to explode, Roderich entered the conversation. "Lord Peony," he began conciliatorily, "may I know what the basis of your statement is?"_

"_They don't know how to serve green tea," Yao held his fingers out and ticked off one by one. "They are too rough when they wash my feet. My silk robes always crease in their grip. They are not punctual. They-"_

"_I get it," Roderich interrupted. Yao's high-pitched complaint was grating on everyone's nerves, judging from the displeasure on Alfred and his subjects' faces. "Unfortunately, Easterner slaves are in very short supply in this Empire. I will ensure that your current slaves are trained till they serve you to your liking-" _

"_No!" the concubine interrupted, his gaze on the Prime Minister haughty and challenging. Yao merely sneered, and turned to one of the other two Noble Consorts. "Lord Rose, would you be so kind as to let me have your Easterner slave? I would be so very grateful," he transformed so drastically to a deceptively demure expression within a blink of an eye._

_Roderich gritted his teeth. In a few seconds, Yao had made a simple matter a form of power play. A glance at Arthur told the former Edelweiss that the Rose was stricken. To avoid an all-out war, Roderich would have advised Arthur to cave; after all, Yao's demand was petty. But he knew how important Xin was to the green-eyed begetter. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't._

_For once, Emperor Alfred understood that Yao intended to undermine Arthur. He rose to his feet in righteous indignity, his hackles raised like he was a pissed off cat, but before his throat could give voice to the protest his mouth was shaped around Arthur had forced an amicable smile to his face. "I'm afraid Xin's service is irreplaceable to me, Lord Peony." His hands remained hidden from the table as he spoke, his expression unnaturally stiff. Roderich could only guess how white the former slave's knuckles would be from forcing himself not to tremble. "But," Arthur quickly added before Yao could edge in a word, "I am willing to share with you." _

_Good, the former Edelweiss praised the younger begetter in his mind. Arthur hadn't forgotten this dance, it seemed._

_Yao narrowed his eyes, but before he could up his ante, Roderich threw an open invitation to the floor. "Perhaps there may be other lords or ladies who could spare a thought for our Noble Consort…? I'm sure Lord Peony would not forget your kindness." He shot the petite Easterner a warning stare as he gave his Emperor a sharp tug on his sleeve, signaling him to sit down and stop showcasing hostility to his donor for goodness sake..._

_There was a beat of silence before someone offered Hong, and since Yao could not pressurize Arthur further so obviously, the case was closed.) _

There were unpleasant rumours around the Peony, since Yao wouldn't hesitate to attend those negotiations instead of dining with His Majesty. Bolder men had tried to gain an upper hand by insinuating that the Peony wasn't a dutiful Consort, but the amber-eyed begetter would only dismiss the attempt with a high-pitched laughter. "After having two husbands, one learns not to rely on them," he'd mocked, waving one hand dismissively. "I'd be a fool otherwise."

'_Two husbands?_' Hong was puzzled. Judging from the nearly imperceptible twitch of Xin's brow, he could tell she was suspicious as well. The way Yao said it sounded like he'd had two husbands and Emperor Alfred was his third, but maybe it was just an erroneous figure of speech. Maybe Yao wasn't used to speaking the Western language.

The man on the opposite side of the table was too flustered in anger to notice the strange wordings, however, and the matter was not pursued.

The Peony was always a little jumpy. At first, Hong thought it was because he was scared of the people he'd been cruel to (and there were a lot of them), but it didn't seem quite like it. Once, Xin had delivered a letter from a relative named Yong Soo, for a split second, the Peony looked like he had seen a ghost, his face white as a sheet and his amber eyes wide, before feigned indifference dominated his doll-like countenance again. He'd promptly shooed her out rudely (he'd given up his efforts to buy Lord Rose's personal maid's loyalty after one week, Hong'd observed), He even glared at Hong when the long-haired begetter noticed the slave's curious glance.

There was no mistaking it. Their cunning Lord Peony was keeping a secret. A secret that could make him vulnerable.

Not long after the incidence dubbed as '_that letter_' in Hong's mind, as the two slaves performed their duties, Hong's eyes met Xin's over the empty cups of tea they were clearing from the table. He held his gaze and tried to conduct a silent conversation with her.

(_There were too many questions he wanted to ask: what kind of secret do you think it is? _

_Which district of the East did you come from? When did you start as a slave?_

_What do you like to do in your free time?)_

But she ducked her head before long.

Hong never attempted to befriend her again. It wasn't worth his life.

* * *

><p>"You don't look happy."<p>

The Prime Minister spoke by way of greeting.

Arthur responded with a start, jostling the china in his hands, brown aromatic liquid sloshing the sides of the cup and splashing his fingers. Xin immediately came to her master's attention with a towel and took the porcelain away as though it had offended Lord Rose. He shot her a grateful look. The servant that attended him in her absence was not nearly as efficient. Or caring.

"Your Grace," Arthur returned the greeting, somewhat sarcastic. "It's a wonderful day to be out making snowmen or snow angels," he commented as he looked over the garden over the railing of his balcony in his private quarter, the estate awash with snow and the reds and the pinks of poinsettia and Christmas roses the gardeners planted months ago. They were in the thick of winter, with the new year approaching, but the sky was clear and the air was crisp. It was a rare day.

"Indeed," Roderich took the empty seat next to the blonde, glad to see this acerbic side he thought the flower had left behind in his past. _And yet_, his thoughts were derailed as he spied the crease between Arthur's massive eyebrows. Again. "Even with a baby on the way, your moods seem very blue, milord."

Arthur flinched. _He's not Matthew, _he reminded himself, mentally berating himself for letting out a physical reaction. The perceptive Royal Prince would have caught it and put two and two together. The blonde disguised his nervousness poorly with a barked out laugh. "Do you seriously feel that having a baby is something to be happy about, in this political climate?" He gave a wide gesture, meant to encompass everything from the battles against Duke Orleans' armies to Prince Ivan's continuous stay at Alfred's court (two weeks and counting now).

"Indeed," Roderich sighed to the tea Xin had served him. "But surely, you have noticed that the announcement of your pregnancy have planted hope and stability in your husband's court? A dying Dynasty is a breeding ground for civil war, thanks to Francis for siring only two offspring."

Arthur had to swallow the bile that rose to his throat, one hand cradling his stomach reflexively as though he could feel and protect the life growing within that way. The memory of that celebratory banquet where Alfred shared the news of his joy made him sick. The ballroom had been filled with ill-spoken whispers behind masks of cheer, some mocking Alfred's virility, some questioning the baby's paternity. The latter were questions Arthur also asked himself, repeatedly, in the dead of the nights, wearing himself thin with worries.

(And the whispers never stopped. They spread to the hallways, to the streets, to the homes of far-flung aristocrats.)

For his sanity, Arthur attempted to distract them. "Four."

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Roderich blinked. "I beg your pardon…?"

"There are Maria…and Gilbert's child," talking about them made Arthur miss the albino, the longing sudden and piercing. Not a good territory to enter, he noted. "Whatever gender that child is."

Arthur felt the older begetter's gaze on him for a moment before he heard Roderich respond. "Two heirs," he amended himself, "I suspect there may be more than four offspring."

"Huh?" Arthur leaned closer to his companion. "What do you mean?"

Roderich was about to explain when they were interrupted by a voice they were both familiar with.

"Arthur!" Alfred's face lighted up visibly once he laid his eyes on the flower. Arthur wasn't even sure the young Emperor noticed that his Prime Minister was with them. "It's almost time for lunch," he approached the older blonde from the doorway and grinned, "accompany me to the dining hall?"

Arthur gave his husband a warm smile. He could never refuse him anything it seemed. "Sure," he rose to his feet and turned to the former Edelweiss. "Lord Edelstein?"

Something flashed across Alfred's blue eyes.

Roderich didn't need to see his sovereign to know he was unwelcome. "Let me soak in the beautiful scenery a little longer," he waved his hand dismissively, "please enjoy your meal, Your Majesty, milord."

As soon as the couple left the bright balcony to the privacy of the central living room of Arthur's quarter, Alfred weaved the fingers of his left hand to Arthur's right hand, and bent over the begetter's abdomen. The monarch pressed the palm of his right hand on the small mound that was beginning to show on Arthur's slowly expanding belly. "Hi, my boy," he greeted the beginning of life nestled under the green-eyed blonde's skin. "It's your daddy again."

Arthur chuckled. "The baby may be a girl. You're going to make her confused."

Alfred pouted at his flower. "It's going to be a boy, I know it!"

The Emperor was so distractedly happy as they walked down the corridors, his arms swinging in a wide arc, pulling Arthur's hand with them. The young monarch was lost in his imagination, his tone progressively more excited as he shared the future he envisioned of teaching a blonde boy how to play tag and ride a pony. Arthur soaked in the other man's happiness greedily.

The begetter's joyous mood, however, disappeared in a puff of air as soon as the couple reached their destination.

The Emperor had been spending a _LOT _of time at the Rose's quarter (and boy, hadn't tension been building in the harem; Arthur swore the Lilac had been drilling holes on his back with her glares), and after two weeks Alfred's enthusiasm had barely diminished. Conversely, he started gifting Arthur with baby clothes sewed from the best silk and wool, threads of gold and silver. He treated the Rose like he was already an Empress Consort from having birthed the Empire's first heir.

"Milords," Arthur cut in as soon as there was a natural break in Alfred's chatter, alerting the sovereign of the other flowers. It would not do to ignore the people he was sharing a husband with. "Milady," he gave his fellows a small nod.

The Peony and the Lilac ignored him. Kiku and Mei, however, replied the greeting politely. "Your Majesty," they all stood for the Emperor.

"At ease," Alfred pouted slightly as Arthur slipped away from his arm to his seat between Yao and Kiku. The Emperor himself was flanked by Yao and his Minister of Justice's daughter (not by choice). "Where's Matthew?" Alfred asked the room in general.

"Your Majesty," a gangly servant Arthur recognized as the younger Prince's valet shuffled forward. "His Highness has not returned from his visit to the Southern Ambassador's home. He sent his apologies."

That Carlos. The Emperor sighed. "We should start without him," he signaled to the first footman.

Meals were almost always a family affair in the royal household. When the harem gets too big, the tradition may not be upheld (it was plain impossible to fit all of Francis' concubines a room, except the great hall and the ballroom), especially if guests or family friends joined them, but for now, there was enough space for six of them.

Or ten of them, it seemed, as Prince Ivan, his timid aide and his two sisters strolled in before the servants returned with food. "I hope I'm not too late," the big-boned monarch smiled.

Alfred pursed his lips. He knew better than to not let them come in uninvited. He wasn't at their beck and call, not exactly, but Ivan kept pushing and pushing his boundaries, and soon enough, Alfred could not be held responsible for snapping at them. "Settle down," he fought against the impulse to bark the words.

Poor Mei looked like she was going to jump out of her skin when the large Northerner settled down next to her. The first time Ivan showed up at breakfast, he deliberately plopped himself at the other end of the table, where Empress Consorts typically sit. What followed was an explosive drama where Ivan claimed ignorance and Prince Matthew had to hold his brother back from doing something rash. The servants were told to remove that chair and that was the end of that.

The tension in the room hit an all-round high, just like any other times their meal times were crashed by these particular guests, until bowls of wine chicken soup were placed on the table. Only Arthur's looked different, an alcohol-free diet for his condition.

He sniffed. "Herbal?" he wondered under his breath.

"_Hai_," Kiku unexpectedly answered. The dark-haired flower smiled kindly as Arthur blushed in embarrassment at being heard. "Yao-ni ni just received a parcel of _huai shan _[1]_. _It's good for pregnancy. We requested the chef to add it to your meal."

"You're too kind," Arthur thanked the Peony and the Chrysanthemum. The former, for once, smiled graciously. Yao's attitude toward Arthur didn't change much after the doctor's diagnosis, but he wasn't as antagonistic.

As everyone tucked in, Arthur sipped his food slowly. The taste was all right. Just typical herbal. Back in his ancestral home, Arthur used to gather herbs from around the Kirkland's estate to be handed to the cook. He should be used to that flavor, yet, for some reasons, it didn't agree with his palate. Nausea made itself known again. He couldn't finish the soup.

"I'm sorry," he couldn't help but say as he pressed a napkin to his lips.

"So rude," the Lilac shot him a condescending stare, "it's a gift. You have to finish it," she sounded unusually forceful.

"You know what, morning sickness isn't really contained to the morning," Alfred defended Arthur, his tone carefully lighthearted, yet on edge. His hand sought Arthur's fingers over the table. "We are very grateful to you, Yao and Kiku, that doesn't change."

"Of course, we understand, Your Majesty," Kiku was quick to reply.

The meal went on without any incidences until they reached dessert. Suddenly, Arthur was overcome by restlessness. He began to sweat profusely. His heart was beating so rapidly his hands were shaking.

As he pondered about the cause, bile rose up his throat so fast he almost couldn't clam his mouth shut in time. "Excuse me," the green-eyed blonde quickly squeezed through gritted teeth, his face pale. He all but flew to the washroom, barely reaching the basin before he emptied his stomach.

"Arthur? Arthur!" from the haze of his pain, the flower heard his husband chase after him. Before long, there were hands holding his hair away from his face.

Arthur turned to his ruler with great effort. "It's okay…" he moaned. He sounded delirious.

But the expression on the Emperor's face told Arthur he was anything but fine. "Arthur," he was afraid, the flower realized, "t-there's blood." He pointed at the basin. "A copious amount," his blue eyes were wide.

Arthur touched his lips.

His fingers came back red.

TBC

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><p>PLEASE REVIEW. Reviews make me happier :).<p>

A/N1: Why is it my chapters often ended with Arthur being some kind of hurt?

Notes:

1. Chinese Yam/nagaimo/huai shan: wiki/Chinese_yam. I got the idea from a website recommending Chinese soups for the pregnant: thechinesesouplady com (slash) pregnancy-soups/

A/N2:

Between the commemoration of Francis' death and Alfred's Coronation, only a three weeks had passed. And between the time Matthew discovered about Arthur providing 'services' to the nobles to the commemoration of Francis' death, at most only a month had passed (Alfred spent a week at Yao's. It took nine days to travel back and fro). I read that most pregnancy only start showing in second trimester. Around the same time, Arthur's lifestyle changed from that of a slave to that of a kept mistress (aka started becoming more well-fed), so it's possible he considered the expansion of his waist a result of a better diet. Nobody knows how old the pregnancy was at this point in time. :/


	24. Chapter 2,15,2: Accept the good and bad

A/N: Thank you very much for your support! I've been not very nice making you all wait, I feel warmed there are still people reading this.

And special thanks to Foofmeister for the enthusiastic encouragement and MoonlightShadowMaiden for the long review. Thanks to you, Moon-san, there's more 'fluff' in this chapter haha.

Chapter 2.15.2: Gotta accept both the good and the bad

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><p>"Let me go through the symptoms again," the same middle-aged doctor who pronounced Arthur's pregnancy was back to his bedside, "Profuse sweating, nausea, blood in vomitus, rapid heartbeat?"<p>

Arthur gave his attendant a tiny nod. His heart still felt like it was racing out of his chest, even starting to ache like it burned. "A-and chest pain," he wheezed.

The doctor watched the flower as he gasped for air. "Difficulty breathing as well, I see," he frowned. "Any numbness?" He began to touch the green-eyed blonde's face and neck.

Arthur panicked when he couldn't register the sensation of the doctor's fingers on his jaw. "…I could not feel that."

"Don't worry," the medic was quick to reassure the concubine. "It's most likely temporary. How about headaches? Stomach pains?"

Arthur anchored himself on the older man's voice to dislodge the terror that was feeding his heartbeat. He focused on feeling his body. "My head's fine. My stomach…only a little," he finally answered.

"Good, good," the doctor murmured absently, his hand twisting his greying beard in thought.

Like déjà vu, Emperor Alfred hovered around the two. It was hard to not absorb the nervous energy he was emitting. "So?" he urged the doctor after the latter was quiet for a couple of minutes. "Is he okay? How about the baby?" the pitch of the monarch's voice rose with each syllable.

"The baby is unharmed," the doctor didn't snap, but he was clearly only an inch away.

Alfred deflated from relief, but only for a while. "So," he started again, "what's wrong?"

The doctor looked around the room. It was, again, filled by way too many people. The Northern siblings were there, along with every flower. Every single flower, including Yao and Karla Dubois, the Lilac. It was like lunch was continued in Arthur's bedchamber.

"First and foremost," the doctor raised his voice, "Lord Rose needs a good rest."

His intention was unmistakable. The Emperor shot his harem and his (unwelcome) guests a glare. "You heard what the good doctor prescribed," he ordered firmly. His eyes, though, met Kiku's concerned ones, and he couldn't help but soften. Alfred knew Kiku got along well with Arthur. He's stumbled to the sight of them having tea at least twice already. The teenage blonde reached out to hold his friend's hand. "I'll let you know once Arthur gets better," he told him softly and squeezed.

The slender Easterner gave his Emperor a grateful smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty," Kiku's voice sounded weak.

Soon enough, everyone had exited and only three of them were left (well, four, if you count Arthur's maid). The Emperor narrowed his eyes at the doctor expectantly. "Well?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Your Majesty, there is an off-chance I may be wrong," before the monarch protested, the doctor plowed, "I highly suspect Lord Rose was poisoned."

Alfred inhaled sharply, while Arthur stopped breathing.

_Somebody was targeting him. Somebody wanted him to __**die**__._

"Please breathe, milord," the doctor's voice cut through the flower's paranoia, and Arthur released a lungful of air.

Subconsciously drawn to his beloved's distress, the Emperor sunk to the bed, his hands searching blindly until they held on to Arthur's hand and hair. Alfred was, however, unable to say something soothing, his jaw clenched shut in horror and fury as his eyes were trained on the older blonde's familiar face, drinking the sight in.

The atmosphere in the room remained heavy as the silence dragged.

"This is serious," Alfred finally managed as he wrenched his intense gaze away to the rise and fall of his flower's chest. He saw that his desperation were making Arthur more upset. "Are you sure this is not…"

The doctor waited till he was sure he was not going to interrupt his sovereign before he explained, "While pregnant women and begetters might be plagued with serious nausea and heartburn, palpitation and numbness aren't natural. The blood in his vomitus is a dead giveaway." He gave the Emperor some time to process the information, and added, "I hope the remnants of Lord Rose's food haven't been cleared."

That got the Emperor to jump out his seat like his feet was on fire. "You!" his expression wild as he pointed at Arthur's maid. "Tell the kitchen helpers to not dispose or wash anything! On pain of death, you hear me? Dash now!" he barked.

If Arthur was in his right mind, he would have chided his husband for being so rude to Xin.

At the moment, though, it took him everything to not succumb to fear.

* * *

><p>Despite his best wishes, Alfred found himself standing behind the entrance to Yao's apartment with knights and investigators on his back.<p>

The thick-browed Oriental slave who opened the door was startled by the presence of his sovereign, not to mention the small army behind him. His dark eyes were as large as saucers, before he bowed. "His Majesty?"

"Don't bother announcing me," the monarch nearly hit the wooden furniture against the wall with the force of his slam.

The three Eastern flowers were in the living room. Mei was practicing a musical instrument. Yao was writing something with a brush. And Kiku was folding numerous rectangular white papers to some kind of shape fervently. He looked most distraught.

Something was caught in Alfred throat as he spied Kiku's palpable worry.

The trio looked up at the slam. "Your Majesty!" Kiku shot up to his feet. The slight relief on his face turned to shock and wariness as the knights and investigators barged into the apartment and trampled all over the place with their noisy footsteps. "W-what…" Mei joined him at his arm. Yao only looked up, and narrowed his eyes.

It was hard to say what he had to demand. But Alfred wasn't the ruler of his lands if he were a coward. "Lord Chrysanthemum," the sound of his official title was warning bells to Kiku, Alfred could see. He fought hard not to swallow. "We're here to request the ingredients you gave the cooks to prepare Lord Rose's meals for lunch earlier."

Something seemed to click in Kiku's mind. "It was just the _huai shan_," his eyes searched for their slave's, and once he had the man's attention, gave him a non-verbal cue. As the ingredient was being retrieved, the flower's socked feet peeked out of his silky maroon kimono and slid against the floor, approaching the Emperor slowly as the owner gauged Alfred's reaction. The blonde tried to let out nothing.

"Alfred-sama," hearing his given name from Kiku's lips threw him off. It reminded him of those peaceful days at the Wang's clan's backyard a couple of months ago, of them crafting mechanical toys, of Alfred laughing and ordering his new friend to call him that way. In the chaos of preparing for the showdown, the coronation, his grandfather's siege, Ivan, Arthur, the baby…the blue-eyed blonde just realized he missed that friend, the easy companionship.

Before he could look away, the slight begetter's fingers had ventured to his face. Kiku's penetrating dark brown eyes were locked on Alfred's own when he whispered. "Is Rose and his baby well?"

Kiku didn't refer to Arthur with his full title. Alfred felt punched in the gut when he realized that the two were closer than he thought. He still forced himself to let out no emotion when he spoke, "Doctor Bonnet alleged that Lord Rose was poisoned. Harming the Empire's heir is a serious crime."

Kiku's other hand clenched on the fabric over Alfred's shoulder. The blonde watched a dozen of emotions battling in those gorgeous eyes before concern won over. "Is Rose and his baby well?" he repeated.

Alfred was speechless by his spouse's tenacity. They continued staring at each other in silence until the Easterner slave came back to their side with a bag of thin stripes that resembled white-coloured potato flesh.

"That's our entire stock of _huai shan_," Yao declared from his place. He was finally on his feet too. "I swear we are not guilty. You can search our place as much as you want," his gaze was direct and strong, almost challenging. "But don't leave it in a mess. I refused to be treated rudely," he reminded sharply, everything in his tone screaming, _you will pay otherwise._

Alfred held Yao's gaze. He knew the Peony could be a good liar, but it was hard to believe he could be lying now. "Thank you for your cooperation," he acknowledged it.

Yao humph-ed and returned to his writing, like the investigators didn't faze him.

Alfred avoided giving Kiku one last glance as he turned around to leave.

* * *

><p>"No!"<p>

Alfred was woken up from his accidental nap by an elbow to his collarbone. His first reflex was an uncoordinated swat at his attacker, but a few blinks later, the teenager realized that his bedmate was flailing, the begetter's brows furrowed and his mouth open and emitting a high pitch whimper.

"Arthur! Arthur!" Alfred grabbed the slighter blonde and shook him. "Wake up!"

The latter came to the world of the living with a gasp, luminous green eyes unseeing.

"Sshh," Alfred quickly tucked his husband under his chin and rocked him slowly. "It's okay. You're okay. Nobody's hurting you," he murmured tenderly.

"…A-al?" his precious bundle choked a sob. "Is that…"

"It's me, dear, yes, it's me," Alfred caressed Arthur's face softly as he leaned back to let the older blonde see him and confirm his identity, to ease his mind. As recognition entered Arthur expression, the monarch gave him a small smile and drop a chaste kiss to his lips and temple. "Wanna tell me about it?"

Normally, his former tutor would have scowled and corrected the Emperor's grammar. This time, though, Arthur only clung to the bigger blonde, as though he wanted to burrow himself under Alfred's skin.

The nightmares weren't an uncommon occurrence. They plagued the nights the Emperor held vigil at Arthur's bedside as his pregnant flower suffered through more restlessness, nausea and worsening pains in his stomach. Once, he even had seizure. The good doctor visited every few hours, when he wasn't busy supervising the inspection over the food materials Arthur had ingested that lunch. Lacking knowledge of what the toxin even was meant his treatments were limited in their efficiency.

The good doctor never looked worried when his Emperor asked after the baby.

"I don't think the baby is directly targeted," he described, "Lord Rose doesn't experience any cramps or bleeding in his lower body. The poison isn't an abortifacient."

But of course, if Arthur lost his life, his baby would automatically be no more.

Alfred didn't want to entertain the possibility of such a scenario.

Meanwhile, the _huai shan_ was out of suspicion. The investigators had fed it to animals and even human testers. None of them so much as fell ill.

A day after the Emperor had someone return the remaining _huai shan_ to the Peony's apartment, Kiku showed up at the doorstep of Arthur's apartment with a bouquet of Christmas roses and an arrangement of many, many bird-like shapes folded from beautiful patterned papers, held together by a string.

At the Emperor's curious gaze, the Chrysanthemum explained, "They're _origami_ cranes, Your Majesty. In my homeland's culture, the crane is considered a holy creature. This _senbazuru_ - a thousand paper cranes - is believed to bring good luck and can grant a wish." The flower had looked scared, determined and hopeful at the same time. "And, from the bottom of my heart, I wish for Lord Rose and the baby to be well."

Guilt flooded Alfred's chest as he faced his friend. He knew shouldn't let him in; just because the weapon was not the _huai shan_, all of his concubines were still prime suspects. But Kiku was…Alfred _trusted_ Kiku.

Arthur, though – delirious, weak Arhur – his eyes were lost in terror when Alfred asked him whether he was up to meeting Kiku. He even flinched away from the bouquet.

Whenever Arthur was not unconscious or distraught in pain, he was becoming more and more withdrawn each day, his eyes darting all over the place, jumping over the smallest noise. Alfred could only slip into bed with him and wrapped him in his arms, assuring him that he was protected.

One sunrise, Alfred opened his eyes to Prime Minister Edelstein sitting next to the bed.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," the bespectacled Infante greeted calmly.

Alfred rubbed his eyes and groaned in response. It wasn't the first time Roderich had visited Arthur after the poisoning. They were friends, and Alfred knew the former Edelweiss never meant the Rose any harm.

This time, though, he held official documents in his hands, and he was dressed very formally. "Reports from Lille and Metz," he answered the Emperor's inquisitive stare, "our armies have subdued the enemy's armies."

A lopsided smile broke on the young sovereign's face. Finally, some good news! "That's great!"

"However," Lord Edelstein didn't hesitate over interrupting his ruler this time, "Chartres and Evreux were attacked in the dead of the night barely ten hours ago. Lord Archambault and Lord Bissette were mad with grief over losing their families. [1]"

If Alfred wasn't awake before, he certainly was now. His mouth went dry.

Roderich's stare was patronizing as the silence enveloped them. After an eternity, he broke it with a sigh. "Your Majesty," his title sounded mocking from the diplomat's lips. "I understand that you're worried for Arthur. I am worried. We are all worried. But please don't forget we are at war. Waging wars in winter is the North's specialty. That you have an Empire to rule and protect." His tone was gentle, but they were worse than if he were shouting.

The blue-eyed blonde snapped at his most trustworthy advisor. "What do you-"

"Sshh," a gloved finger was placed on Alfred's lips. Roderich's violet eyes were watching over Arthur, who stirred from the sudden movement of his bedmate, but didn't wake.

Alfred's face burned in shame.

"We all care for Arthur," Roderich whispered as he leaned back to his seat, "Vash, my wife, Prince Matthew," his poor, poor brother who returned from his best friend's house (hopefully, hopefully NOT his future in-law) to chaos. "We can set up a rotary, share our time to take care of him."

"But-" _he needs me, _Alfred stopped abruptly when his most trustworthy advisor shot him with a look the blonde hated the most: patronizing, with a touch of exasperation.

"Your Majesty, you've only been on the throne for two months. If you keep this up, your life can be in danger too," the bespectacled diplomat sighed.

Alfred grimaced like he'd swallowed a bitter lemon. "…All right," he conceded, begrudgingly.

Roderich showed his ruler and grateful smile. "Then please get ready, Your Majesty. There are subjects to be appeased."

The daily life of a sovereign, indeed.

* * *

><p>The day His Majesty and the investigators invaded Lord Peony's quarter, Hong was seriously afraid for his life. Suddenly, his master didn't seem so invincible after all.<p>

In the wake of that chaos, nobody visited the petite Oriental begetter anymore. Nobody wanted to be associated with the family suspected of hurting His Majesty's favourite (no matter how much the sight of the former slave was an eyesore to many). Days in the apartment had been _too _quiet.

But, on the second day since the bag of Chinese yam were declared innocent, a guest knocked on Lord Wang's door.

"I am not stupid, despite what you believe in," the long-haired Easterner humph-ed as soon as he caught sight of the bespectacled brunet in his guest room and retorted in a biting tone.

Prime Minister Edelstein remained unfazed. He merely pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

Lady Plum and Lord Chrysanthemum were both out in the gardens. Xin was staying indefinitely at Lord Rose's until the blonde recovered, Hong supposed. There were only three of them there right now.

What a convenient coincidence.

Lord Wang heaved a sighed before he slipped out of the table he normally write letters at, and approached the other begetter. "You are the stupid one if you think that I'm behind this," his hand waved vaguely in the direction of the tower where Lord Rose resided. "I could not care less whether he gives birth to a Crowned Prince or not. You do know what the strength of my position in this court is based on, don't you?"

The Prime Minister snorted. "The degree of your influence on my decisions and recommendations to His Majesty."

Lord Wang barked a high-pitched laugh. He was seldom so bad-mannered with his other guests. (But then again, this diplomat was the one profile that surprised Hong the most.) "Well, if you want to be vindictive, yes," the Peony sneered. "But our business relationship exists because you need several things from me. Money, of course," he ticked off a finger, which was covered by a golden claw-shaped nail-protector. His red, full lips curled to a smirk as he ticked off a second finger. "Information...and an agent."

Lord Edelstein sipped his green tea quietly. He didn't rebut any of Lord Peony's words.

"And none I can obtain without maintaining a credible reputation," the Easterner continued as he crossed his legs and leaned back. "Which is seriously jeopardized by the bastard who started this whole drama, whoever he…or she is." He narrowed his amber feline eyes and hissed.

The Duke sighed. "And here I am hoping you would know more about it."

"Oh, trust me, it's not from lack of trying," Lord Wang chimed sarcastically, "I'm pretty much just sitting around uselessly these days, squandering riches off your treasury," he commented off-handedly as he inspected his bejeweled claws. "Which is not a bad deal for me, really."

Lord Edelstein leaned forward and looked hesitant for half a beat. "And you're sure it's not…" his violet eyes shifted to the rest of the apartment at large.

Another snort. "Mei's an idealistic simple girl, and I didn't raise Kiku to be stupid."

The Westerner's frame seemed more deflated. "I see," he crossed his fingers and rested them under his chin.

"I'm not _that_ useless," Lord Wang huffed, "What you requested me last time is on my work desk. Of course, it's more expensive to acquire now," he grumbled as he gave Hong the non-verbal cue to retrieve the envelopes on said furniture.

"Unfortunately," the Prime Minister replied absently as he took the documents from the slave and flipped through them. He raised a fine eyebrow at a letter addressed to the Easterner Ambassador in Oriental pictographic characters. "…What is this?"

"Just a message to the Ambassador to cash in a favour," the Peony gave a dismissive gesture, "Please help me send it. And make sure to let some people see along the way."

The bespectacled brunet pursed his lips disapprovingly. "This would spark friction between the two Empires' relations."

"As if," the flower snorted again. "It is so, so unlikely for the East Empire to use me to plot against Alfred's future heir. If they wanted to conquer the West, they would have done so when that Duke who didn't have a legit claim to the throne was playing Emperor. They're not about to battle Mikhalkov's armies to get to the West, either. Too much hassle, the high cost unjustifiable."

"And you absolutely need this because…?" Lord Edelstein sounded wary. "I'd rather not play with chance."

Lord Wang gave his guest a stare that screamed, 'are you really a diplomat?' "I want your nobles to think that I have my Empire's protection, of course. After all," for the first time since the other set a foot in his apartment, the Peony crossed his arms, "my 'opponent' in this drama may be the monarch of another militarily sound Empire."

Lord Edelstein inhaled sharply. He rubbed his face as though he was plagued by headaches. "Oh, God."

"Indeed," his distress was mocked.

The Prime Minister glared at his business partner before he took his leave pointedly, without any greetings.

When Hong went about clearing the leftover tea, Lord Peony spoke at the slave without looking at him. "If I so much as catch wind of what is spoken inside this room today," he let the threat hang.

Hong's heartbeat stumbled. "Yes, milord."

TBC

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><p>Review Please :)!<p>

Notes:

1. I'm not pulling French last names out of my arse…they're from: surnames dot behindthenames dot com slash names/usage/french

A/N: I'm breaking it here coz I'm evil ;). Haha no...it's coz there's a natural break (cough cliffhanger) and my next job assignment is going to be tough...work 15 hours seven days a week that kind of tough...so I hope this chapter will last you a while till end of June. Cheers!


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